The Third Magic
by Delusional Fishies
Summary: Illyasviel thought herself dead, Berserker destroyed, and probably her onii-chan too... But then, she heard the call that she could no longer resist. A slight breaking in the setting may occur.
1. A Homunculus is Fine Too

**The Third Magic**

_Notes: Credit to AlfheimWanderer, who's editing skills turned this into something worth reading and practically co-authored this. Let's have fun making this work, alright?_

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><p>The soft splatter of her blood upon cold stone echoed only in her mind, as the ichor that tied her to this plane of existence hemorrhaged from her body, her pleas for help dying unspoken on her lips. Her mouth moved very slightly in an attempt to say something pithy or meaningful, yet her attempt at defying the certain end failed, with only a wordless bubble of blood gurgling up from within. So this was it... after a meaninglessness existence where she had endured great pains, only to see everything slip through her fingers, she would die, her soul returning to Akasha to be torn apart and recycled - probably for use in the next generation Justica model.<p>

Even now her consciousness was fast fading, her last tethers to this material world escaping her grasp all too quickly.

She didn't want to die.

But she didn't have a choice, as her… murderer… stood above her, looking down upon her with something akin to a mix of disdain and curiosity. Why did he not strike the killing blow, she wondered? Was it because he wanted to prolong her torment, to make her wish that he would just end her existence? Was it because the King of Heroes wanted to taunt her with the hope that she might still live? Was it because he wanted to use her suffering to torment the adopted son of Kiritsugu?

She didn't know. All she knew was that his cold red eyes shone in the moonlit night, and in her dying moments, reflected that this must have been how her victims had feltasthe light drained from their eyes, as hope faded and defiance sputtered out, till the end came with a whimper, not a bang.

Her last gasps where upon her, her lungs failing as they, ironically, were deprived of oxygen and the prana flow that had kept her stable.

It hurt just to breathe.

And then even the pain stopped, with the man in the golden armor, the oldest of humanity's so-called "heroes", smirking before disappearing into the night, unseen and unheard by her numbed senses.

Why did she still cling to this world? Her heart was gone; her body crumbling, and yet some long-forgotten remnant of self fought to keep on living, even though it was futile. But why?

Her father had left her.

Berserker was gone.

Even her Onii-chan didn't care about her.

She had nothing left to live for, nothing in this world.

…_I beg of you…_

A presence of some kind, an odd voice echoing deep within the emptiness of her soul, a light that slowed the inevitable approach of the end It felt old... almost immeasurably so, older than even the roots of her family's magecraft, yet it was definitely a spell crafted by something human, or at least close. It probed her, sending tendrils of arcane force through her vessels, nerves and burnt out circuits till it reached her core, as if in a last, desperate attempt to fan the dying embers of her soul into a raging inferno once more.

So much had been repressed. Curiosity, hope, whimsy, faith and more - everything had been dampened, eroded, worn away by long "education" and training. Her role was over but... wasn't there anything she could do?

She wanted to live more.

She wanted to love.

She wanted not to be alone.

She wanted... well, she wanted simply to be able to move!

But right now, even trying to muster up the force of will to twitch a finger cost her soul unbearable pain, hastening its deterioration. She couldn't even summon forth the magic to heal herself or recreate her body-not without her heart or the energy to do such things. There was so much need burning inside her breast, but nowhere for it to go, as desire became regret as the darkness closed in.

…_somewhere in the universe!_

An odd feeling - the foreign presence again, reaching into her with an unknown intent, a power she could not reject, as her life was nearly gone. It pulsed, seeming to wax and wane, disappearing and reappearing like the signal of an old, broken radio-or a heartbeat. Something odd and alien, affixing itself to her, twining itself with her nerves-which was simple enough, as her body became but a husk. Her last breath was all but done.

_Oh sacred, beautiful and strong… spirit!_

_Ba-dump._

A sharp, white heat pulsed through her body for a fraction of a second, as her life flashed before her eyes. What was the point of living when she was anything but sacred, when she was a tainted, dark thing, unnatural to humanity? When she was a mere vessel of the Grail to be discarded when her purpose was fulfilled?

Was she beautiful when even her father had shunned her for… _him_? Was she strong, to have her Servant destroyed without being able to do a thing to stop it - and to be killed herself by some rogue Servant, which by all means should have obeyed her as the Grail?

Her spirit broke, sadness filling her as she released her last breath, surrendering the last vestiges of her life in this world, accepting her fate, wherever it might lead.

…_Here I plead… Answer my guidance!_

There was no strength left to struggle. Her will was depleted and her body destroyed. What would come would come, for the life of Illyasviel von Einzbern, Master in the Fifth Holy Grail War, was over.

She just hoped that whatever awaited her, perhaps she might be more than just a homunculus, a tool to be made and used and wasted…

* * *

><p>A world away, a young girl faced a rite of passage hardly as bad as the precipice between life and death. Some called her Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière. Some called her "Miss." Some called her sister or daughter. Most called her Zero, the talentless mage whose temper was as fierce as her magic was unusable.<p>

It shouldn't have been that way, as the strawberry blonde was of the highest ranks of the peerage, with a pedigree eclipsed only by the royals of her land. Her parents were mighty in the ways of magic, the blood of mage-kings (the same as that in the veins of the princess of Tristain) ran through _hers_, and she had been drilled in the knowledge of the Craft since she was in the cradle-yet none of that mattered now.

Despite her background, she had failed, and quite consistently at that.

Today was her last chance and failure was not an option.

Besides being the most important point in her academic career, the Springtime Familiar Summoning was her once in a lifetime chance to prove herself to her peers, to show that she was not a commoner putting on airs of nobility. At least that had been how she had had started the day, filled to the brim with bravado and bluster, wishing to prove to those of her peers who mocked her that she was just as good as them. But once-twice-three times, she had failed the summoning, and now she suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous taunts and torments, powerless to respond. No one would defend a failure, not even the gentle, bookish professor who normally kept order - he just stood aside and looked at her pityingly as the others did their worst, their words like lashes on her back, forcing her to bow her head.

In response, she tried to reach deep inside of her, to suppress the molten core of anger bubbling and boiling within her heart, fueled by the fears and insecurities she had. This inner darkness was the only thing she could count on, her sole source of strength at the Academy, her only reassurance that she would show them... _she would show them all._

Such a thought was half-cried, half-snarled, as unladylike as it seemed.

Blinking back unshed tears and channeling that grief, like so many unspoken others in her many years, deep inside her, Louise raised her wand with all the grace drilled into her by her mother's harsh discipline. Her eyes closed instinctively as they did whenever she was about to cast, a lesson learned years ago after debris from the first great explosion she had conjured nearly blinded her, but she forced them open. She wanted to see the moment of her victory, when at last, her efforts was vindicated and her rivals shamed - when she proved that she wasn't worthless.

The Vallière was quite capable, at least as far as theory was concerned, able to recall knowledge and analyze treatises in a way few others could. She had studied this ritual extensively, taken exhaustive notes, and pestered her professors for tips.

She _couldn't_ fail now, not if she wanted to be more than just a Zero.

"_I beg of you_," the strawberry blonde began, her voice trembling in anxiety as she uttered the ancient words of rite. As she spoke, she seemed to calm, her words steadying as she let power flow through her. "_My slave who lives somewhere in the universe, oh __**sacred, beautiful and strong **__familiar spirit, I desire and here I plead with my heart… answer my guidance!_"

Once more, silence reigned, as nothing happened.

Not a whisper of magic, not a faint shimmer of light, not even the sound of rushing wind.

Nothing save the snorts and chuckles of her so-called peers beginning anew, a sound that drove her to near berserker rage. She thought she had prepared herself for the worst, but she hadn't expected this, hadn't expected even more jeers from yet another failure that pushed her past her limits.

_No._

Enough of this. She was done being a Zero. She would summon something far beyond anything they could possibly imagine! Something that could do the impossible, kick reason to the curb and overwhelm her doubters with power, an unyielding spirit of beauty and strength that would _show them all_.

She'll show them all.

Rage flowed, molten and untrammeled, from her inner core, pulsing white-hot through her veins and nerves as she called upon every shred of power she had, every scrap of fear, anger, hatred, a river of force that tore from her, howled in an explosion of light and heat that threatened to consume her where she stood, burning her to ashes.

_I will not die a failure._

The well of power roared, winds bidding defiance to the binds of logic as a maelstrom erupted from her body and tore through everything in its path. Air, ground, water-the fabric of worlds-time and space itself - the surge ripped through all of these with a shriek of despair, reaching, reaching, _and reaching_ for the familiar that would best suit her.

Around her, the field shook, her peers literally bowled over by the merest leaking of the unexpected display of might, as an eerie song of power hummed in the air, resonating in every nerve, every pore, every bit of skin of those present. It was like watching a legend being forged in that moment, as impossible amounts of energy spiraled from the girl, crashing forth and surrounding everything with her color.

A spark flared to life before the girl within the heart of the storm, bare meters from her being. Swirls of energy and circles of some unknown magic shot forth like a beacon, with all-even Louise-flinching away from the utter intensity of it.

Then as fast as it had begun, the display of power - light, wind, heat and all - simply ceased to be, leaving in its place a lone figure as naked as any child might be when born into the world, save for some thin scraps of fabric that might have once been a dress.

Rubbing the leakage from her eyes (and telling herself that it wasn't tears - for why should she cry), Louise took a moment to study her newly summoned familiar as disappointment, only for her brow to knit in puzzlement.

_What? What is this?_

She knew not to expect a griffon, manticore, or dragon, but this…? After tapping into her last reserve, this was what she had summoned? A girl, younger even than her, who couldn't even afford proper clothing - leaving almost nothing to the imagination? Louise did not often judge any person by their outward appearance after more than one lesson on politics from her father, but this was ridiculous!

Only the fair, snow-like hair of this summoned girl stopped Louise from outright stomping in misery, as she had never seen hair that color except on those much older than she. Then, a moment later, Louise had another oddity to focus on, as the familiar opened her eyes, revealing to all a pair of eyes the color of fresh-spilt blood.

_I've never seen anyone with those eyes before..._

The young mage-in training blinked, turning to her professor to demand yet another chance, but her protests died as she saw how raptly the man was looking at the girl, naked curiosity burning in his eyes. Such a display of emotion disgusted the strawberry blonde - perhaps the professor would want to trade familiars, if he was so keen on staring at her obviously _female _familiar?

_Or maybe it had just been too long since he-_

Louise hastily dismissed that train of thought before any awkward mental pictures could form, and looked back to her summon, only to see the other girl eying her almost appraisingly, almost as if judging the skills of an equal?

_An equal? Rubbish..._

By now, the jeers had started up again, having disregarded the "Zero's" display of power as just a fluke, but Louise simply ignored them, letting the lingering vestiges of the molten fury from before serve as a shield against their hurled insults. It was done now, though perhaps if she had finished on the first attempt, she could have avoided this seemingly ceaseless barrage of unsavory comments calling her pride, heritage and image into question.

Now she was tired, wishing that the idiots would simply pick up their wands and float away, leaving her to her business. She didn't need them now, or their approval.

_Ah, there they go now._

Now that she had a familiar, she would never be alone…

At the thought, tiny, pink lips curled upwards ever so slightly as Louise walked forward with deliberate slowness, almost stalking towards her new familiar and cupping the girl's face, making sure the other was real, that this wasn't some fever dream. In a tone honed from many hours of emulating her mother, Louise spoke her incantation. "My name is Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière. Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers; grant your blessings upon this humble being, and make her my familiar!"

The white-haired girl had just enough time to display a moment of shock, as Louise closed the distance between them and leaned forward just enough to capture the familiar's lips with her own in the time-honored ritual. Perhaps she allowed her lips to linger a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, but...that was just to be sure it worked. B-b-because it would be embarrassing if she had to repeat that part of the ritual over and over.

The mage in training had just pulled back from the other girl, without even time to congratulate the newly minted familiar on what honor she has been given to taste a noble's lips, when a pale blue light rose from her familiar's forehead, hissing as it built, searing dark runes into the forehead of the snow-haired girl.

Illya hissed in pain as the ancient runes carved into her heretofore immaculate skin, with a pain not unlike the training she had undergone with Berserker in the forest. Her knees shook, her hands clenched, and her teeth grit... but her eyes remained open the entire time, continuing to watch, to observe, to judge. Long seconds later, the glow dimmed as the eldritch powers finished their work, the pain fading, leaving behind the dim, blue glow of the arcane runes. Her eyes clearly asked Louise what the mage had done, yet instead of voicing her query, the homunculus simply crossed her legs and performed what might have been a curtsey.

It was hard to tell, given that she was not exactly wearing a dress.

"I greet you, Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière," the red-eyed girl intoned, and for a moment, Louise thought even her familiar's voice glowed; it was not quite angelic, but it seemed oddly close. "My name is Illyasviel von Einzbern."

"…_von Einzbern?_ Are... are you Germanian?" As soon as the words left her lips, Louise regretted them. But as a noble, society demanded that she take pride in her words and never take them back for a commoner... which her familiar had to be, right? Though the "von" seemed to belie that...

"My family has roots in Germany, yes," Illyasviel acknowledged with a slight nod, her halo-like hair fluttering with her every move. "But most recently, I come from Japan. Might I inquire where we are?"

_Germany? Is that an archaic way of saying Germania?_

And...

"Jaa-pahn?" Louise thought of herself as well-read, but she has never heard of such a place or read of it in any of the books or lore she studied. She quirked an eyebrow at her familiar as if to question further, but decided against it. A noble couldn't afford to look ignorant, and a Tristanian certainly couldn't afford to in front of a Germanian.

It was time to apply the first lesson her mother instilled into her: that she must impress her will upon anyone she commanded to let them know who was in charge. Louise grimaced inwardly, noticing how her familiar seemed about her age, height and size, how it was almost like looking into a mirror.

If the tables were turned-if, Brimir forbid, she had been called by some talentless mage at the Vindobona Magical Academy, would she allow herself be summoned and controlled like this?

But such concerns were not something she could worry about, as she needed to push aside personal desire and worries in favor of the needs of the moment.

"We are at Tristan's esteemed Academy of Magic," the Vallière scion condescended to explain. After a pause, however, she figured that that might not be quite enough information, and so added a bit more a beat later. "I have summoned you today as my familiar."

In response, the snow-haired girl, this Illyasviel simply cocked her head.

"A familiar? Not a Servant?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose I would have made a bad Caster anyway, but I can't really play any other class."

A small smirk, confusing Louise as to what this meant. Servant implied lower class, but Caster...as in a spell-caster?

"No, a familiar," Louise affirmed, looking Illyasviel's body up and down for a moment with a slight frown, as the homunculus blinked at this. "And you need more clothing."

Illyasviel blinked at her 'master's' declaration, more out of curiosity than anything else. Perhaps this would be an interesting experience, she decided, her mind probing her body, which had not so long ago been on the verge of death.

She felt _different. _A tad weaker, to be sure, less in tune with her magic circuits, almost as if this was a puppet body, though she knew otherwise, given that she had dealt with those before. Still, the strange prana source pressed into her forehead prevented degradation and removed the need to eat - something that she'd have to study later to better understand its limitations-and how it was constructed. Was it perhaps some kind of prana conversion matrix drawing from the greater source to refill her od faster than her circuits could allow? Something that contained power on its own?

Though she was skilled at crafting things of Alchemy, and the memories of the Winter Saint within her indicated how certain rituals might be done, she didn't have as much experience with storing power in any form other than her body.

_At least my power seems to flow smoothly enough, and I have good control over my magecraft… albeit with a hint of resistance, as if the world egg I was drawing from is different._

Throughout this time of thought, Illya remained silent, and seeing this, Louise was pleased, thinking that her familiar was at least obedient. The Vallière girl would have to ask the unknown about her background later in her room, though she profoundly hoped she hadn't ripped this girl away from a noble life, even if it had been like hers. It didn't matter that the strawberry blonde enjoyed her life less with each passing day, almost wishing that she could disappear. Louise could not imagine any other kind of life, at least not that she would find acceptable.

"Alright then, follow me. There should be spare uniforms in the Academy for servants. You could use one."

Illyasviel raised a finger to her lips, as if to question cutely, "Why don't you just fly, like your friends?"

Louise twitched. Louise twitched again. She almost exploded, but she quickly reminded herself that this girl did not know her and from the way her forehead glowed, she was not hired by one of the students to taunt her. "I… I am not proficient in that type of magic," she growled out, almost like she was a starving dog being forced to give a bone away.

Inside, Louise reminded herself again that the Rule of Steel was harsh… but fair.

"Ah, lead the way then, Miss Vallière!"

* * *

><p>Out of all the things to be impressed by, it was the sheer size of the castle that caught Illyasviel's attention. Louise felt more than a little smug at the delight that shone in the other girl's eyes-or was it a sense of familiarity and comfort? But as they walked past both the older and younger classes her familiar's eyes drooped. When they passed one of the third years concentrating on practicing fire-spells the crimson-eyed girl actually <em>yawned<em>, as if magic was a bore to her, something routine.

_...that's not possible. Commoners are supposed to be overawed by our might, as we are as beyond them as they are beyond such animals as cows._

And commoner she _had _to be, though the fact that the girl had named herself "_von _Einzbern" suggested otherwise in a way that made Louise distinctly uncomfortable.

Seeing that she had to take the initiative, Louise tried to start a conversation. She had little practice at it in the castle as she had no one to talk to, yet it had still been one of the things her tutors had tried to instruct her in, so she had to try.

"So tell me about where you are from, Illyasviel. I have never heard of Japan, is it in the far east of Germania?"

Her familiar stilled mid-step, with Illyasviel's eyes growing cold and dimmed, as if thinking of something unpleasant, a moment of tension visible in the younger girl's frame as blue rune upon her forehead glowed brighter. But after a moment, she forced herself to relax, giving a small smile.

"You may call me Illya," she said at last. "And no, Japan is on the other side of the world from Germany. It's almost another world."

"Another...world?" Louise repeated, blinking as she looked at the white-haired girl. "That is hard to believe, familiar. So it is to the East?"

Such was unimportant really. The binds of the ritual had been completed, and could not be taken back, so wherever this familiar was from, she was bound to service the Vallière girl's needs. But Louise would strive to be a good master, even if the other were not a dragon, griffon or manticore. "In the future, please address me as master, familiar."

Illyasviel raised a curious eyebrow for a moment and then nodded her head. "If you say so, _master_," she replied with a neutral expression. "Might I ask you a question, master?"

Louise nodded; she was glad that at least her familiar was compliant. She had thought that the other might be more resistant to acknowledging her as a master, and that she'd be forced to make the other obey. Yet the other _had_ acknowledged her, so she supposed she could be generous.

"Of course, familiar."

"How did you summon me?"

A serious question on a face with a smile that...was not quite a smile, but something else entirely, as red eyes bore into purplish, as if testing her. Were these words mockery of some sort, or...?

"I… the Springtime Familiar Summoning ritual is a sacred rite," Louise explained imperiously, instructing a lesser in something she obviously knew little about. "It has been a tradition for all mages since the beginning of magic, a rite of passage passed down by the Founder himself!"

"A familiar? I see…" Her familiar giggled and hopped ahead of her. She turned around, now facing Louise with a quirk of her lips, "I suppose I _could_ be a familiar."

"You suppose? You have been given an honor, to chosen as my familiar! A commoner given such an honor is something unheard of!" Louise said, the words flying from her lips in an undignified outburst. It made her angry - both at her familiar, for being so odd, and at herself, as the arrogance she displayed seemed like something _Kirche_ would say to her.

"And what would constitute a commoner?" This... Illya asked, not quite so innocent now, her eyes sharp. "Where I come from, most would consider me nobility."

Louise tripped, nearly falling on her face before she recovered, reeling.

"Y-you're a mage?"

Her voice was oddly weak as she looked at the familiar, blanching as she considered what it would mean to take away the rights of a noble. A commoner was one thing, but... by the holy Founder! What would her parents think? Would they... would they disown her if they found out?

"Well yes, I could perform magecraft if I wished, master." Her familiar said casually, as if such a thing were but a bagatelle. Oddly, the white-haired girl didn't seem smug, nor seemed to show offense at being summoned? But... why? "However, given my odd change of surroundings and the fact that I recently had a near-death experience, I would like to try my powers before exerting myself. I am impressed by your rune though; it is a rather fascinating way to channel prana to your familiar."

Prana? Rune? Magecraft?

Only then did Louise focus on her familiar's forehead and the odd glyphs that had been carved there. "I did not craft it," Louise said, honestly, but wondering what was happening. "If you are a mage, then…"

The Holy Brimir had obviously approved of this but... how could a mage take another mage as a familiar?

"Well, maybe I am of the Caster class after all!" Illyasviel giggled cutely, putting a finger to her lips in thought as a cruel smile stole over her face. "Then I should go grab Berserker!"

An ominous feeling overtook Louise, and suddenly, the strawberry blonde felt that maybe it would have been better had the mage-familiar just thrown a fit and gotten her into trouble.

* * *

><p>Illyasviel laughed inwardly as she dragged the pinkette along to her room. The conflicted and confused look on her summoner's face was enough to keep her from killing the other girl and running off to do whatever she wished - though another part of the reason was the rune on her forehead, which had apparently helped to rebuild her from pure prana, stabilizing her soul in a way she thought only the Third Magic was capable of.<p>

Further, the well of knowledge within her could not sense any Greater Grail in her surroundings, and the gate to the Origin seemed distant, almost as if she were worlds away.

_...this is Zelretch's fault, isn't it? _

The only other alternative was that the Tohsaka heiress had succeeded where only the Wizard Marshal had before, a thought the homunculus did not find quite palatable. Either way, she took stock of her surroundings, particularly of how the constant feed of prana through the rune on her forehead made her feel invincible. Or in her case, perhaps more invincible than she felt before, but Illyasviel knew that the she in the past had believed a falsehood, as she had already been destroyed once.

She would not allow that to happen again, and so she _had_ to call forth her guardian. As a homunculus, she had jaw-dropping amounts of prana, so it should be possible, given that the Throne was universal...

"Come along, _master_," Illyasviel teased as she drew the circle. In a different world, she would need all the privacy she could garner. If Berserker was seen, she would probably be in trouble. "You want to see a real Servant, right? Well, let me show you what a true summoning is like..."

"I-a true summoning?" Louise was taken aback by this... Germanian's audacious claim. So even a familiar would mock a master, eh? Well, this couldn't-

_Gworrhhaa!_

_-_the growling of her stomach interrupted any brewing tirade, much to her embarrassment if the blush on her face was any indication. Dinner was in less than two hours, but her growing teenage body needed more food!

"A guardian, a protector to serve as shield and sword," Illya explained patiently, as if to a small child. Or perhaps she was talking to a _smaller_ child. "I am but a magus, and fighting in the melee is below one such as me."

Louise's expression scrunched up once more, as she prepared to protest... but by then, the circle was complete, and the silver-haired girl had begun to chant, a drop or two of her blood falling into the center of the circle.

_"Ye first, O silver, O iron_

_O stone of the foundation, O Archduke of the Contract ..."_

* * *

><p>He had served her faithfully.<p>

_"...Hear me in the name of our great teacher, the Archmagus Lizleihi..."_

He yearned for nothing, not anymore. In his haze of black rage, nothing was left standing and everything in ruins. No loved one left, not even the gods truly helped him. Then he met her, his little master. She was so fragile, so… pure, like the snow that she stood in as she took him as hers. After the days and weeks under her service, he found himself wanting to protect her more than out of his contorted sense of duty.

He had come to love her.

_"...Let the descending winds be as a wall..."_

Like a father protecting a daughter, a brother to a sister, or even a husband to a wife, he never left her side. He could, but would not, influence her decisions. He was tainted, evil, by his own choices and actions, but she had an innocence he had long since forgotten. And he would protect that, even if it meant the destruction of his body and soul in an infinite cycle of pain.

_"...Let the gates in all directions be shut, rising above the crown, and let the three-forked roads to the Kingdom revolve ..."_

Now he heard the call once more.

_"...Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut._

_Five perfections for each repetition._

_And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead!_

_Set. "_

He would protect her, once more with feeling. He of such titanic might, that even a single errant twitch from him might break her. In a world that was but cardboard to him, she was just a single small scrap of white parchment, so frail that even his breath could destroy her. Yet she kept him so close, against even his judgment.

_"Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade._

_If thou submittest to my call and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, then thou shalt respond._

_I make my oath here._

_I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heavens._

_I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades._

_Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words,_

_come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance-!"_

Her grasp over his soul and heart was stronger than any binding of prana, even of an amount as near infinite as her own. She had his love. That was a loyalty even his rage could not break. Now the calming song of her power called to him once more, grasping his soul and materializing his might into a physical realm far from her origins. He worried for her, of the pain he would cause her simply by existing, but his will to protect her was infinitely greater.

As his eyes opened once more, he scanned the area. As his senses took in the high-class medieval room, his inner senses knew the changes within his being. Now his master had an even more powerful seal than the Command sigils to dominate of his soul and body, something older to bind his will to hers.

The blue runes that glowed on her head called to him…

_There is another?_

He turned to the other presence in the room. Someone had bound his master, with the same seals? She moved, as if to stop him from hurting that which bound even her soul to this foreign plane. But he knew better, he knew that the tiny pink thing was no threat.

This pink-thing was different, but not an enemy. It was not his instincts about her that told him to stay his hand, but his instincts of his little master. Within his dark, black heart, he felt something warm grow. To see his little girl grow, to have someone to protect and love, to have a friend… his happiness for his master grew exponentially. But all he could do to show his love and happiness was to growl deeply and allow his eye to glow... even though he was no longer bound as a mindless Berserker.

And perhaps, his master might even find happiness…

…though some things still had to be observed.

"Are you my Master?" the greatest hero of Greece asked, bending a knee to the snowy girl, his deep voice felt more than heard, rumbling like distant thunder.

"Who else would suffice?" Illya countered, clapping her hands together.

Perhaps it was not the best action; the little pink thing let out an "eep!" and fainted. If he could, Heracles would have rolled his eyes. Mortals were so _damnably _fragile sometimes.

* * *

><p>Louise looked up at the giant that was summoned into her room, thinking that he looked more powerful than a dragon... and far more terrifying! Immediately, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she fainted; the hunger for dinner forgotten.<p>

Illyasviel gasped as her Servant caught her fainting master with one hand, smirking to see the other's reaction to the Heroic Spirit which served her.

"Oh my!" she murmured. "Now then… I wonder what exactly you've done to me, you pretty, little witch?" The rune on her head flared as tendrils of arcane powers stretched out, grasping across space and time at the root of all things.

She felt empty.

"Hello again, Berserker," Illyasviel said brightly at her servant, all acts of naïve innocence gone, her eyes immediately going to the great bow on the Servant's back. "I wonder… what a strange world I've landed myself in? And what is that bow?"

"I seem to be an Archer now, actually," the adamantine giant rumbled, looking intently at the homunculus before him as he set the pinkette down on the floor. Illya grimaced...her Servant was now the same class as her killer, and the same as that...strange Servant of Tohsaka's? "I seem to be sane again...though I don't think I received a second chance at life from the Grail."

"Think of it as something similar," Illya noted, looking around. "It is a world like a past, one where magic seems to be a little stronger, for I was able to summon you while so _far_ from Fuyuki. But… it's odd, you came even when not bound by the Grail."

"Of course I did," the massive Archer intoned, straightening to his full height - and just barely fitting inside the room. "You called, and I answered."

"Then, I think this will be rather fun!" She giggled, twirling and dancing joyously within Louise de la Vallière's room. "Won't it... Archer?"

The great hero of Greece simply grunted his assent, wondering what this second chance would grant him, now that he was not robbed of reason. And in the moonlight, one could almost see a soft shimmer in his blood-red eye.

* * *

><p>Seeing that her summoner had seen fit to take a well-deserved nap, Illyasviel thought it time for her to take a more thorough tour of her surroundings, since she'd apparently be stuck there for a while. Still, looking down at unconscious body of the young pinkette that had called her forth, the snowy-haired girl only sighed, as she supposed that leaving her on the floor would be somewhat rude.<p>

The mage who had summoned her had probably spent all of her (considerable) reserves to call her through an incalculable gap of time and space, saving her life in the process, and the homunculus felt that that was worth _some_ loyalty. After a lifetime of manipulations and abandonment, she didn't really want to be subject to someone else's whims, but it wasn't as if Louise de la Vallière would really be able to subject her to anything Illya hadn't already experienced, "master" or not.

So she'd give the diminutive strawberry blonde the benefit of the doubt... for now.

"Archer, if you would please help my poor summoner into bed please?" she asked sweetly, though both the homunculus and her Servant knew it to be a command. There was no need to be discourteous or too blunt, since she knew he would obey.

...and it did amuse Illya to see the great Heracles tucking the small girl into bed with great care and tenderness, quite contrary to the image and reputation of the one once known as Berserker.

While he was doing so, the former vessel of the Grail took the opportunity to walk about the room, examining everything in detail, though her survey revealed nothing inherently magical save her summoner's wand, a mystic code of some kind like any number of others she had seen. And like in most ateliers she had seen, there were tomes on magical lore - though these seemed to be of the basic textbook variety, piled haphazardly on a rather messy desk covered with notes.

Curious despite herself, Illya took a step closer to the desk, crimson eyes peering down at the scattered sheets of paper on her summoner's desk, brows furrowing as she regarded the odd writing.

"Strange," she muttered to herself, "I can understand her notes, but it looks like French…perhaps it is another mystery of this curious rune, wouldn't you say, Berser—I mean Archer?"

"It is likely that the rune atop your brow is more complex than previously believed, little Lady," the adamantine giant rumbled in agreement. After living beside Heracles for so long, Illyasviel found it strange that he could respond to her words with something besides a howl of rage or grunt of assent, but such were the quirks of the various classes she supposed.

_'Hm, what's this?'_

Something scribbled on one of the sheets caught her fancy, and so the homunculus pulled out a seat. She quickly plopped down as she studied the notes before her in more detail, her intelligent mind soaking up everything she read with ease. "My, my summoner must have done quite a bit of reading to have this much detail on the summoning ritual she used. But it's all worthless-none of it mentions how the ritual is supposed to work!" With a cute grunt of frustration, she brushed the stack of paper that she had sped through onto the desk, watching the pages flutter in the air to land where they might.

"It is unlikely that the small pink thing has deep knowledge of such a summoning ritual," Heracles replied, a craggy brow lifting slightly in amusement before his countenance quickly sobered. "If your instincts tell truth, then your presence here is due to something greater."

"Most of her notes _are_ of history or of rumors," Illya noted, her lips twitching downwards at the thought. "But seeing how this familiar summoning has had such a long history, it would be unlikely that Tohsaka had anything to do with it…" She trailed off, eyes narrowing as she fixed on another, more likely possibility. "Maybe Zelretch then? Grandfather did always complain about that branch of things…"

Heracles did not reply. His knowledge of the powers in control of the Second Magic told him little to contribute to Illyasviel's presumptions. Besides which, the snow-haired girl had the memories of the Winter Saint, who had known the Second Magician personally, so she was in far better a position than he to judge such things.

With no answers readily forthcoming, Illya simply pouted, flouncing from the chair to Louise's wardrobe to pick out some garments more fitting for her than the rags in which she was still clad. Somehow, she wasn't surprised that most of what she found was copies of the simple shirt, grey skirt and stockings that Louise wore, almost as if it was a uniform of some kind.

_...which it might well be, since the other girls were wearing something like it._

The snowy girl donned these articles, taking a pair of Louise's shoes to complete the ensemble. It would hardly do to walk about a stone castle with merely stockinged feet for longer than she had to. That would be annoying, as Illya didn't care for cold feet-or for the cold at all, really. "Oh, look! Perfect fit! Let's go Archer, I wonder what kinds of summons the other students had?"

"Very well, little Lady."

She hopped around the room, curtseying, walking and dancing experimentally in the new clothing, studying herself critically in front of the mirror. To her surprise, everything seemed to fit well, and so she headed towards the door, casting a glance behind her at her Servant.

"Oh, that's right," she said, putting a finger to her lips inquisitively. "Why do you call me 'little Lady', Archer?"

"All are little to me, Master. And you are my lady above all else," Heracles growled as Illyasviel's forehead glowed once again, as if pulsing in acknowledgement of the Heroic Spirit's words.

"Oh, right, I should have you go invisible, so you don't scare everyone, Archer!" Illya noted, snapping her fingers. "Fade from sight, Heracles."

The hero did as his mistress bade, first becoming transparent, and then altogether invisible.

_"...a wise choice."_ Her Servant's gravelly voice seemed distant when he replied, in words that didn't filter through the air as much as pass directly to her mind. "_Hmm,_ _it seems I have the full abilities of a Servant in this world, even shifting into the astral plane is of little inconvenience to one such as me. However, I lack a weapon._"

"Oh, we'll fix that soon enough, Archer, but for now, let's explore… there's so much fun to be had!"

With that, Illyasviel skipped out of the bedroom of Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, her invisible, intangible protector following closely behind.

* * *

><p>As the door closed with a resounding <em>thud, <em>the eyes of the allegedly sleeping pinkette sprang open in a mix of shock and... fear? as the rest of her body shot out of bed.

_Dear Founder, what was that... thing?_

The great leaden monster that her familiar had somehow summoned, with a ritual wholly alien to Louise, referencing an "Archduke of the Contract", and both the virtue of the heavens and the evil of all Hades-what in the name of the Founder was it? As someone used to being around beings of great power, she knew that the giant was more than just a brute, that even his massive frame failed to show the true depths of what the hulk was capable of... and she knew that he certainly couldn't just be human. So what was it? A hybrid of orc and human? But that kind of interbreeding was impossible! And even if it weren't, the mere existence of a being of that sort would be borderline heretical, to say nothing of the more than vaguely sacrilegious summoning.

She did not want her first accomplishment in magic to make her seem like some kind of... _deviant_.

_That... that thing_ _had to crouch to fit in my room!_

As Illyasviel and the giant chattered on about strange things—_who was Zelretch?—_Louise kept one eye ever so slightly open, just enough to see what was going on without the others catching on (she hoped), and her ears perked for any names or information they dropped. All the while, she tried to puzzle out what the creature was, thinking that it was perhaps a golem as the best of the best Earth mages were said to be able to make, a life-like being of metal and earth that could nearly pass as a giant person.

Was this little girl she summoned a square-class Earth Mage? Frankly, the thought of having to confront the white-haired girl in a court of law and politics almost caused Louise to faint again.

_A golem maybe? No, but those can't talk...can they?_

But as she looked at the giant, seeing how the beast faded from view as it followed her familiar from the room, another possibility came to mind, one that nearly froze her spine and the marrow in her bones. For golems were merely human imitations of the elemental spirits themselves, beings far older and more primal than any mage that possessed arcane powers unknown to man even to this day. And if this being her familiar called "Archer" was truly an elemental spirit, then Louise didn't know what to think, as to be able to not only speak with, but _bind_ one of those creatures would be magic beyond her comprehension.

So then, what was it that _she _had summoned? ...and could a familiar more powerful than its master truly be called a familiar anymore?

At first Louise had thought that Illyasviel von Einzbern was a commoner, though she had been quickly enough proven wrong. Now though, she was beginning to think that the snow-haired girl might not even be human, especially if she were able to command an elemental spirit about with ease. In fact, she was beginning to worry that her very first thought - that Illya looked as ethereal as a faery (or an elf, as the most powerful of that terrible race was called) - might well be true, though the young girl's ears weren't pointed as those of the fey were said to be.

But surely, the familiar was _just _a powerful mage... right? The alternative didn't bear thinking about.

What would her father say? What would her _mother_ say?

_Mother would find a way to make it bow to the rule of steel, like everything else in her life_. A dirty, little voice whispered bitterly in the back of her mind, one that pointed out how powerful her mother was... and how weak _she_ was in comparison. Louise shook her head and firmed her resolve. She might not be her mother, but she would control her familiar…for a servant to just leave a master's room without permission was simply unacceptable!

And summoning a... whatever the monster was...was out of bounds as well!

It didn't matter if her familiar was a square-class mage or... something else.

She would rein the familiar in, as a mage was supposed to!

Thus, as stealthily as she could, Louise crept out of her room, following her familiar as the odd summon explored the castle. The pinkette would find out what secrets her familiar held and she ride herd on her with a firm hand so the other didn't get into trouble. After all, the "snow fairy" was the only evidence Louise had of any success in magic, and she couldn't let anything odd befall her. A-and that was the only reason, without any special motive behind it.

* * *

><p>The girl in question was currently walking down the corridor of the Academy's main keep, a slight frown on her face as she compared it to the ones she was used to. Although grand in scale, it was dimmer and somewhat less elegant than the Einzbern castles, both the numerous estates in Germany and the one in Japan, with torches for lighting... and she didn't even want to think about the possibilities of medieval plumbing. All she had to say about that was that it was probably a good thing that as a homunculus she didn't technically need to eat if she had an adequate source of prana... though like anyone else she enjoyed good food.<p>

Hunger was the enemy, after all.

Still, she reasoned that such a castle would need servants to maintain it, and she soon found herself proven right, as while walking through halls so filled with history, she saw a person mopping the stone floors.

And not just any person... a maid.

A rather cute maid too, and not quite as stern as Sella or Leysritt could be at times. So as sneakily as only a child-in-mind could, Illyasviel snuck up behind the maid, who was humming some country tune while doing her work, creeping closer, closer, closer, until...

"Hallo!" she called out, leaning close to the other, her mouth just inches away from the maid's ear.

"Eep!" The maid cried out, jumping back in fright, dropping her mop and falling on her pert rear in the process.

Illyasviel's crimson eyes leaned forward, interest written all over her face. Sella and Leysritt had never reacted like _that _when shehad tried to scare them in the past. This one could be rather entertaining... besides which, the raven-haired maid wore the outfit rather fittingly!

"_I agree, little Lady._"

"_Oh, hush you,"_ Illyasviel muttered good-naturedly under her breath, as she started to slink towards the maid, almost like a hungry predator stalking prey. "My, my… what are you called?"

The poor maid, for her part, just looked at the Academy student with wide eyes and swallowed, clearly debating whether or not to flee. "I-I am Siesta, Miss…?"

"Call me, Illya, Siesta-chan…" Illya all but purred, and somehow, without the maid noticing, Illyasviel had gone down on all fours, crawling over the maid's legs so as lean over her buxom form, with their faces just inches apart.

'_Am I... am I about to be taken... by a girl?_'All Siesta could see and think of were how the snowy-haired girl's ruby eyes almost seemed to glow in the candle light, how moist her li…

"No harassing the help, familiar!"

Brandishing that phrase as a battle cry, Louise de La Vallière jumped out of her hiding place with a horrified expression, pointing a trembling wand at Illyasviel.

Illyasviel pouted as she looked over at the mage that had interrupted her sigh.

"Ah, but Master…I told you to call me Illya, remember?" she reminded the pinkette unrepentantly, making no move to back away from her comfortable position atop the silently squirming maid.

A twitch of the eyebrow was all the warning Illya had before Louise hurled herself bodily at her familiar with a growl, forgetting the use of her wand at all (and why not, for it had never truly worked for her before). Instead, the pinkette just grabbed Illyasviel by the waist and flipped her off of Siesta in a surprising demonstration of strength from the Vallière girl - all the more so since she had never truly exercised in her life.

"Familiar, familiar, familiar! I can call you what I want to!" Louise roared like a manticore. Well, a manticore in her mind, perhaps, but a cute plushy of one in everyone else's.

"Ah-I… May I be excused, Misses?" Siesta looked more than a little frightened at the situation. One moment she had been mopping, the next a white-haired girl she thought was a noble was on top of her, and after that, a second noble had tackled the first off of her... this was just confusing. Really, the maid didn't want much from life except for things to be peaceful- and at the moment, that meant getting far, far away from these two crazy noble girls with very strange ideas of propriety.

"Yes!" "No!" Louise and Illya shouted simultaneously, with the pinkette turning back to Illya with a glare, though the snow-haired girl just shrugged and smiled at Louise with a dangerous false innocence.

"Why, _master, i_f you wanted her for yourself, you only had to ask_,_" the homunculus Illyasviel smirked slyly, standing up and dusting off her borrowed skirt as she leaned in, letting her breath brush against Louise's nape, causing the pinkette to shiver despite herself. "After all, I'm more than willing to share~!"

Louise blinked once.

Louise blinked twice.

Louise blinked yet a third time, as the strange words the familiar had spoken sunk in, and a blush with the redness and intensity of a terrible sunburn rose from her exposed neckline and crawled up her face, until her whole body matched her hair in color.

"I-I-I… that's sick, you perverted familiar!" She shouted the first response that came to mind, the words escaping her lips without conscious thought. It was an ingrained response, one that came all too easily after with dealing with Kirche Augusta Frederica von Anhalt Zerbst the Ardent far too many times for her liking.

"Oh hoho!"

Speak of the devil…

"Oh, did someone just call my name?" The red-headed... libertine slunk into view, with the sensual grace a mink. "Ah, the _Zero_ and her little-girl familiar… in an interesting position, at that. Have you had your sexual awakening at last, Louise?"

"Zeeeeerbst! Ooooh, you!" Louise's flushed face contorted from embarrassment to anger in a flash, forgetting about Illya in an instant as she scrabbled for her dropped wand, wanting something in her hand to... hurt the taller, more curvaceous girl. She couldn't help it, really. Seeing her bully of the last two years poking fun at her for _this_ was... was just too much.

Off to the side, Siesta felt a little safer, though still quite uncomfortable.

Sure, at the moment she was being ignored, but the number of insane mages trapping her to her little corner of the hall just increased by one, with one of them being Kirche the Ardent, a noble known for her... depravity was the polite way most of the servants put it. She prayed that they would continue to focus on one another, and not her, which was just how she liked it when it came to insane mages, but she was still surrounded, unable to truly escape without either breaking etiquette or gaining their attention again!

She wanted to cry, life could be so unfair sometimes.

Seeing another student, one that was her master's equal, Illyasviel felt a proper greeting was in order, as this girl reminded her of the blonde with drill-like curls who kept the Tohsaka heiress delightfully distracted at times. Such goings-on had been a source of great amusement to Illyasviel, and the interaction between her Master and this Kirche might prove to be just as fun.

"Greetings," she murmured in a low, demure tone. It was a quiet voice, seemingly innocuous... though each word was intricately laced with prana as something of a suggestion. If these girls were accomplished mages, perhaps they would notice it? "I am Servant Caster, familiar to Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière. My name is Illyasviel von Einzbern, and who might you be?" She punctuated her sentence with a curtsy.

"Oh, someone with proper greetings... how unlike the Zero," Kirche managed to get out before the snowy girl's family name caught her mind, a odd look on her face in recognition. "And a _Germanian_, Vallière? You might not be too much of a failure after all." She turned her attention to Illyasviel, looking the homunculus her up and down. "Well, young Illya, I am called Kirche Augusta Frederica von Anhalt Zerbst, with the runic name of 'the Ardent', for my smoldering passion consumes all that it touches. Thus, I am Kirche the Ardent."

The redhead circled Illyasviel like a prowling huntress, attempting to make her uncomfortable-but unlike Louise, who simply stood still in impotent fury, Illyasviel mirrored Kirche's movements, much to the redhead's surprise... and interest.

"I hope the Zero did not rough you up too much, my dear countrywoman," Kirche smirked at Illya, who grinned innocently back at her.

"Oh, if you mean Master Vallière, she has been nothing but helpful," Illyasviel mentioned, a spark of mischief flashing in her eyes as she raised a forefinger to her lips in thought. "Though why is she called 'the Zero'? It does not seem like a common runic name."

To Louise's surprise, Kirche did not start with the taunts and teases that had Louise had become so accustomed to hearing. Instead, the buxom redhead looked almost sheepish, scratching the back of her head as she stopped in her tracks.

"Ah... that. It's a joke made by friends, that's all." The normally proud Germanian noble said, looking down at the snow girl warily. "It is because Louise here is not exactly proficient with any of her spells. I… I had some small part in starting this joke."

"Ah, so you are friends then?" Illyasviel inquired, the perfect picture of innocence. Then her smirk turned cruel. "I suppose that means I won't have to kill you for a slight against my master."

She said it so sweetly that it almost went over Kirche's head.

_Almost, _being the operative word.

Kirche glanced over at her pink-haired peer to chide her for her familiar's joke, but realized from the suddenly fearful look on Louise's face that the girl was serious. Whatever else she might be, Illyasviel von Einzbern apparently had enough power to frighten the daughter of the Vallière family, one who was intimately acquainted with high nobles and even royalty. And while Louise was not particularly proficient in the magical arts herself, the pinkette had been around powerful individuals long enough that she wasn't intimidated by pretensions of strength.

No, if the Zero were afraid then the familiar was truly a dangerous individual.

Louise recovered far quicker than Kirche. She might not like Kirche teasing her, but she certainly did not want Kirche going around spreading rumors about her newly summoned familiar. It would do her no good if her only evidence of magic were to be taken away. She knew she was being selfish, but she needed to keep this conversation casual.

"Ha-ha-ha," Louise laughed nervously, almost mechanically. "Don't joke about that, Illya." Suddenly, it did not seem that big of a deal to call her familiar by name. Hopefully, that damned Germanian slut would get the hint. "Kirche and I are the _best of friends_, right Kirche?" Louise elbowed Kirche with a forced smile.

"Of cour—ow! Of course. Right. I'll just… go the other way now." Kirche muttered, looking back and forth between Louise and Illya while backing away from the pinkette slowly, rubbing her ribs where the pinkette had hit them. "I'll see you tomorrow in class. And it was nice meeting a fellow Germanian, Illyasviel, so have a good night."

She quickly escaped, going straight to Tabitha's room with some rather interesting news.

After a moment of silence between Illyasviel and Louise, Siesta squeaked and tried to speak up, rather skittish now from the tension in the air. "M-m-may I take leave, please, Miss Vallière?" The corners of her eyes were leaking tears, but Siesta just wanted to get away from all this madness. Perhaps the kitchens would do… if she could find enough work to barricade herself in there until these mages have graduated.

"Yes, yes, go…" Louise muttered dismissively. Her mind was racing, thinking about how to best confront her familiar… no, perhaps it would be best to not think of Illyasviel that way. Yes, call her Illya. If she could so easily threaten to kill, so innocently, she would have to have some power. Perhaps it was not Illya who was powerful, but her family. She might not have heard of the von Einzbern family, but Germania is a large place. Louise nodded her head silently, not really hearing or caring that the maid left.

Illyasviel on the other hand watched the mousy maid scamper away. "Mou... and the fun was just beginning…" She muttered.

"What?" Louise snapped, jarred from her thoughts by the odd statement.

"Nothing, Master," Illyasviel said with a blank expression, changing the topic. "Now, how about we get some hot dinner? It shouldn't be too late, correct?"

* * *

><p>In the Alviss dining hall, the great dining chambers used by the students of the prestigious Tristain Academy of Magic, Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière did not have much of an appetite. One would think that after expending so much of her stockpiled reserves to summon a familiar, the pinkette would be ravenous, devouring the smorgasbord of delicacies before her, but the opposite was true, with her barely picking at her food.<p>

...much like her so-called familiar, in fact.

_Though why isn't _she_ eating?_

As the best student in the Academy, it was beyond trivial that all living things, magical or mundane, human or inhuman, needed to eat. And yet, despite Louise asking for a special exemption to the usual rules where familiars had to eat outside, allowing Illyasviel von Einzbern the honor of eating with other nobles instead of with the common animals in the courtyard, the snow-haired girl had not so much as touched her food, as if it was as beneath her as peasant fare would be to a noble.

_Why? It is typical noble fare and close enough to what I would eat at home that even _I _can't complain. _

Was Illya of such a high social echelon that she would not demean herself by eating the same food as a common noble then? Or... _is she a fairy after all, and can't eat human food?_

That was a possibility Louise was carefully trying to avoid considering, since summoning one of the age-old enemies of humanity would probably not do her any favors in terms of gaining respect as a mage. Particularly if the young girl she'd called forth decided to go on a murderous rampage, where she unleashed the elemental spirit she'd summoned upon those in the Academy, laughing prettily as the giant howled in rage, the shockwaves of supersonic swings tearing through armor and flesh like thin gauze...

_No... ha... haha... no, t__-__that won't happen._

At least she hoped it wouldn't, though if it did, she supposed she wouldn't have to worry about living it down, since she wouldn't be living anyway.

Looking around to get her mind off this uncomfortable line of thought, Louise was not reassured by the way many of her classmates staring at her familiar in silent disgust and loathing, much in the same way they had stared at her in the past. Under normal circumstances, she would have pitched a fit, raging against all those who dare cast doubt on her name or abilities. But right now, she was really too nervous and tired to care. Tired from performing the first bit of successful magic in her life... nervous about the implications of the white-haired girl's "minor revelations," and how she probably had to tread lightly around the one she was nominally the master of.

"Yoo-hoo! Hello there, Zero!"

The sounds of an all-too-familiar voice, speaking her hated nickname, made Louise want to just crawl under the table and disappear. Kirche was the last person she wanted to deal with at the moment. Still, she resigned herself to the fact that the Germanian was at least a known quantity, unlike certain others she could name.

As the pinkette spun about to confront her usual tormenter, she noticed that something was amiss, as Kirche had both hands held before her as if to say that she meant no harm. For a wonder, the rest of the redhead's body language was in accord with that gesture of goodwill—which only made Louise more suspicious of whatever her enemy had in mind…

"And good evening to you, Illyasviel," Kirche nodded at the white-haired girl as she slipped into the seat across from Louise. As she moved to sit, she revealed the presence of a diminutive blue-haired girl that had been following in her wake – the odd girl known only as "Tabitha". "And this is my friend Tabitha from Gallia. Since it is so rare for her to see another non-Tristanian at this school, I told her all about you!"

All around the group, conversation in the hall dropped to a hush as the gathered students focused their attentions on the pink-haired Vallière girl, hoping for a show to go with dinner. But all they saw was the familiar and the blue-haired Gallian nodding politely at one another, before Illya turned back to Kirche.

"Oh? I hope that 'all' doesn't include anything bad, Miss von Zerbst," Illya quipped, smiling brightly at the redhead in a way that brought a sense of unease to the triangle-class fire mage… and to the pinkette, who wondered why was her familiar was being so tolerant of Kirche's presence? Certainly, Louise didn't want to see Kirche dead, but she didn't want to deal with the redhead's inane efforts at conversation during dinner all the same.

Meal-times were for eating, after all, not for a witless, perverted harridan to encroach on her personal space and destroy the appetites of those who could ill afford a skipped meal. Kirche had enough fat in her luscious figure to go without for weeks; Louise certainly did not.

And Illya can't either. She looks too thin…

"Dinner," Tabitha interjected with a note of warning, apparently sharing the general guidelines of Louise's thought, if not the specifics.

Not that Louise really felt like eating, having simply clutched on the division of time for a reason why Kirche wasn't welcome, but she supposed she might as well consume something. At least, if she put on a show of focusing on her dinner, she could ignore Kirche without offending any of the rules of politeness. The Germanian may have approached with what were basically open arms, but she had no reason to simply accept the truce so easily. She had only claimed a bond of friendship to prevent Illya from doing rash, not because she derived any enjoyment from the redhead's presence, as curvaceous and successful as the other was.

Her bully (and traditional rival) was still her bully.

And although Tabitha was much nicer than Kirche when she talked at all, Louise didn't feel comfortable around that girl either. It was always the quiet ones that eventually snapped, taking their frustrations on the world around them. Tabitha was always around Kirche. Therefore Louise surmised that she soaked up plenty of resentment, and that it was only matter of time before she lost control.

…given her own lack of power, Louise didn't want to be anywhere near the girl when the inevitable explosion happened.

But like it or not, here she found herself, and the blue-haired girl was saying something.

"Rune," Tabitha said monotonously, ignoring the silently fuming Louise in front of her. Instead, she was looking at the odd rune on the forehead of Louise's familiar, studying it intently.

Louise felt a pang of annoyance at this.

While she was happy that someone was curious about her familiar, she didn't want Tabitha to call undue attention to it, lest uncomfortable questions be asked, resulting in Illya being probed, prodded, and experimented on by the Academy's staff—or just taken away, if it was ruled that she _was_ a noble.

Naturally, Louise wasn't about to let that happen.

"Oh? You mean this?" Illyasviel inquired, her eyebrows lifting towards the inscription on her forehead. She muttered something under her breath, with the rune etched into her skin dimming till it could scarcely be seen—even by Louise, who was actively looking for it. "My apologies for disturbing your dinners; perhaps that is why so many of your peers were rude enough to stare openly."

A blink, as the Vallière just stared at her familiar.

"How did you do that?" she asked after a moment, trying to keep her voice and expression steady, but not quite succeeding at either endeavor.

If my familiar can make the rune fade, does that mean she can make it disappear? And if the proof of the Contract fades, does that mean I won't have a familiar anymore?

"Hm? Do what, _Master?_" Illyasviel asked, looking at her master with the expression of feigned innocence that Louise was coming to fear.

"You… you made your rune disappear!"

It was a voice laced with accusation and hostility, which only served to provoke the homunculus.

"Did I?" Illyasviel inquired, her voice low and dangerously calm. She was not amused by the rise in hostility in her master's voice, as she only played along with the pinkette's charade because it was convenient to her. "But its still there."

"_Calm now, my little Lady_," a gentle thunder rumbled in her mind, "_there is a reason why the ignorant pink thing fears you so._"

"Don't lie to me, familiar!" Louise nearly shouted, her body beginning to tremble with rage as she glared daggers at her familiar. She thought she imagined it, but the noise of the hall seemed to dull, as everyone's attention focused on her – exactly what she had wished wouldn't happen. All she cared about was that her familiar seemed to be wearing its subservience lightly, practicing rank insubordination towards its Master. "The rune on your head. How did you hide it?"

"And why do you wish to know, _Master?_" came the counter, with the homunculus' voice icy cold, as if channeling the wrath of the spirit of winter itself. While Illya acknowledged that her summoner was rather ignorant of the ways of magecraft and shouldn't be faulted for her lack of knowledge, she had little tolerance for those who simply screamed—especially when it was in a shrill voice that hurt her ears.

"I—" Louise began, but was cut off by Kirche.

"Because she wants your help, obviously," the Germanian interjected with a small smirk, the comment causing Louise to flush in nigh-unbridled rage.

"I-I don't want help! I-I don't need help," Louise sputtered, but her protestations were ignored by the others involved, as it was just another groundless rant from the one who had proven herself a "Zero."

"Your lady doth protest too much," Kirche said sardonically. She glanced over at Louise but otherwise ignoring the pink-haired girl in favor of the snow-haired familiar. "You recall our earlier conversation about Louise's… proficiency in magic, or lack thereof? She's tried every known method of finding her affinity and casting a basic spell – but nothing has ever worked, hence why she is the Zero. Why, it would probably be her dream to cast magic on the level of a dot-mage, much like some of the commoners no doubt have wished?"

Louise continued to rant in the background, but Tabitha, who did not like too much noise during her meals, simply waved her staff for a spell of silence, so that while the pinkette's mouth continued to move, no words came forth. This of course, just further angered the pinkette, but there was nothing she could do about it except impotently rage… Seeing this, presumably the end of the nightly show, conversation picked up again as the other students returned to their own meals and gossip.

"Hard-working," was all Tabitha said in reply to the silent tirade before turning back to her book—something that made Louise stop in her tracks, as such an acknowledgement was as close to a compliment as any had ever received from the blue-haired girl.

"My, how strange," Illyasviel noted with a smile, though the blue headed girl simply nodded without turning from her tome. Then the familiar looked at Louise, regarding her, as if considering a momentous decision. "But anyway, _Master, _if it's just magecraft you want to learn, I could teach you… but…"

Louise perked up, pantomiming a tableau of shock and surprise as she tried to convey her meaning without words. Her crazy, powerful noble-familiar would teach her?

Seeing that the rant was over for now, Tabitha waved her wand again, releasing the spell of silence.

"But what?" Louise asked in a hushed voice. "What do you want? If you can help me use magic, I'll…I'll do anything!"

Hardly a vow to be given lightly, especially by a high-ranking noble, but for Louise, who had been forced to watch powerlessly as all those around her did wonders with magic, while she herself could not perform a single spell, it was reasonable enough.

A quiet laugh, almost as soundless as snowflakes dancing through the air.

"Alright then, but you'll have to call me Goshujin-sama!" Illya countered, her red eyes boring into the pinkette's brown.

"Gou-shuu-jeen-shama?" Louise sounded out, testing the way the word tasted in her mouth. It seemed that this was impossible to translate, even by the translation spell, "What does it mean?" If it was nothing too embarrassing, Louise would agree to it in a heartbeat. Heck, even if it was embarrassing, it wasn't as if anyone else could understand it.

Really, if she could learn magic, anything was worth the price!

"Well…" the snowy-haired girl began, then stopped, smirking. "That's… a secret."

With that, the odd familiar left her seat and skipped out of the hall, nodding to the others. Her food was still untouched, and she did not heed her master's repeated calls to "wait" or "stop," much to the pinkette's despair.

"_Well, that__ was boring, Archer._" Illyasviel groused mentally, shaking her head. Nothing interesting had happened in that exchange, and since she had an adequate prana supply, she wasn't about to eat anything until she could examine the lavatory facilities in the castle. "_Come! Let's go find that maid!"_

"_Hehehe…__"_ Heracles answered, somewhat amused. _"You will have no complaints from me, little Lady._"

Illya frowned mid-step. That sounded strange, as if her Servant was… "_Hush you!_"

* * *

><p>Illyasviel von Einzbern had expected a great deal of difficulty in finding the kitchens, forgetting that they had to be close to the dining hall, since meals had to be delivered hot to hundreds of students who had little tolerance for delay. But wisely, she had chosen to follow the stream of man and maidservants who flitted about with platters of drinks and foodstuffs in hand back to their point of origin, passing through an unadorned door to enter the grand rooms where the magic of cooking was done.<p>

To her surprise, no one stopped her, but she surmised that such was probably due to her clothing, the uniform found in her master's cabinet. Apparently, all of the students at the Academy were nobles, and as such the commoner serving staff was subservient to them…

This was fortunate, as it meant the huntress could simply ask the others where her quarry might be…and they were obligated to tell her. With the help of the others, Illyasviel found Siesta without too much delay. The maid was in the far end of the kitchens washing dishes, having asked for that duty to avoid being seen by some of the "odder" nobles, and was currently humming as she worked, oblivious to her surroundings.

Fufufu, let's fix that, shall we?

With that mischievous thought in mind, Illya snuck up behind the unsuspecting maid, slipped her hands under the maid's arms… and groped.

"Surprise, _Siesta-chan_!"

"Eep!"

Luckily for Siesta (and her paycheck), there had been nothing breakable in her hands, as the metallic serving platters slipped her fingers and clattered violently to the sink. Instinctively, she jumped back, trying to turn around, but this only made both she and the young Miss von Einzbern lose their balance, with the maid toppling on top of the white-haired girl.

For the second time that day, Siesta found herself sweating, quite nervous at the presence of another girl as she stared into a set of blood red eyes.

"My… how bold you are today, _Siesta-chan,_" Illya teased, as Siesta stiffened, realizing the position she was in. To her credit, she tried valiantly to squirm of the white-haired girl's grasp. But it seemed that Illya was stronger than she looked, so she'd have to beg.

"M-miss von Einzbern," she said, shuddering as cool fingers traced the curve of her spine. "Could you please, erm, release me so that I may perform my duties?"

"Why no," Illya replied, her cheeks puffing into a cute pout. "You're doing your… _duties… _quite fine, as far as I can see, right?"

"Ermm… I…"

"And don't call me that, Siesta-_chan_," the homunculus whispered saucily, as if daring the maid to do otherwise. "Call me… Mistress Illya."

"P-please, mistress?" Siesta whimpered, shivering despite herself as warm breath brushed against the hollow of her neck, making her feel things she'd never quite felt before.

Illyasviel thought for a moment as her fingers wiggled of their own accord, touching whatever they felt like. Her maid felt so warm and soft, so unlike Sella and her stern attitude. She should get more maids like this, she thought, as it was just so comfortable to just cuddle up against a maid and…

"M-m-mistress?" Siesta pleaded again, terror and anticipation easily seen in her gaze now. "Could you… could you please let me go?"

Illya sighed, but let her fingers slip free with a pout, as the maid nearly sprang to her feet as if stung. "Alright, Siesta-chan, but you are not getting away next time." With that, Illya took a small vial out of her pockets, a container filled with a purple prana-laced perfume, if somewhat crudely made.

Looking at Siesta, Illyasviel thought the maid might like to have it.

"You can have this," the homunculus whispered, leaning to speak into Siesta's ear as she slipped the vial into one of the poor maid's pockets.

Siesta blinked, suddenly afraid once more.

Was this some strange noble courting ritual she did not know about? She dared not question the girl. What if Mistre—Miss Einzbern wanted to take her here in the kitchens? No one would be able to stop her! Siesta bit back a whimper. She was stronger than this and her family counted on her for the income she could provide.

Plus, there were worse nobles to lose her purity to. Especially if it were a male, since then she would be ruined for marriage.

"Bye, bye!" Illya said teasingly, turning away from Siesta. "You should speak more, my pretty. But even then, it's still fun to play with you. I'll see you _real_ soon."

Cooping a last feel, Illyasviel waved goodbye to a red-faced and distraught Siesta.

Beside Siesta, the chef shook his head in pity. Too bad it was one of the young and pretty female nobles. If it had been a male, like that playboy Guiche, he would have suffered an "accident", which was all too common around knives and hot liquids.

"Still," the chef muttered, "there are worse nobles to lose her purity to."

* * *

><p>A field of white…<p>

Louise tried hard not to dream of snow. Not to think of the absolute purity of it, the coldness… the absence of life it implied. She tried not to think of how before the winter's advance, everything died, and even mages were rendered helpless, forced to huddle in front of fires in their castles for warmth, unable to face the wrath of the elements outside.

…_lines and runes crisscrossing barren stone in whorls and spirals and incantations…_

She tried not to think of failure on a day that was the pinnacle of her career as a mage so far, yet profoundly disturbing, making her wonder about herself even more than usual. And yet she saw the darkness and the ever encroaching end, as time ticked by fatalistically, and each passing hour meant that the reaper's bony feet drew close and closer to where she stood.

…_a Winter Saint in a dress of gold and red and white…_

The images that bombarded her only grew more and more terrible…

_...Rivers of blood flowing... icy cold laughter..._

She knew from whence these dreams came - these dreams of slaughter, blood, a forest of wolves and red eyes.

Red eyes like her familiar.

_No one else she knew had that color, like a bloodstained winter, a faery in power and skill. _

Louise tried to forget that she had ever dreamed, had ever seen these visions, to repress them into the deepest, darkest parts of her mind where she could simply pretend they didn't exist.

But she couldn't.

Thousands of years of toil, the achievement of a lost Magic beyond anything those in Halkeginia could dream of. Experiment upon experiment, trial upon trial, battle and death always surrounded by those of the snow.

She tried to shut her eyes, to block her ears and tune out the terrors creeping at the end of perception, but it was useless. The images were seared into her mind, like a curse beyond her ability to remove or dispel, as if deep inside she wished for them.

In some dreams, she tried to end herself, to rip out her eyes and claw out her heart-but even that was futile.

In those dreams she was a woman, tormented by shadows and whispers of the dark, a colorless one corrupted by unseen winds of plague.

It hurt.

It hurt.

It hurt, so badly her mind couldn't properly remember all of it, lest it drive her insane from the mere memory of what had been experienced.

Wishes flitting about in the mind, unvoiced, unasked, unanswered. Corruptions and fears coming to life, as ruby-red eyes grew dark, and all was stained by ebon night.

Louise tried to wake, yet could not, as she was locked into this sea of memories till it ended. She tried to scream, but all that emerged was silence.

The Winter Saint, so much like her familiar, fell time and time again, consumed by wishes terrible to behold.

A hundred, no a thousand incarnations…

Each with their own individuality, each with their own lives…

Louise watched them all.

She watched each one struggle, clawing for life in endless battle, far stronger than she could ever be, yet in the end, their resistance was futile, as snow was tainted by the red of blood. They died, one after another, the mechanical metronome of the reaper's blade slicing time and time again as they knew infinite loss without gain.

Each time they died, Louise felt their pain as her own.

Her heart bled for them.

Her skin boiled for them.

Yet she could not look away, as each of their deaths was more creative and painful than the last, more agonizing.

The images grew in intensity and clarity.

At first, they were blurry, vague… as if lost in time. But with each incarnation that passed her eyes, the images grew clearer. Louise could not understand the full breadth of what she saw - or even a fraction of what she was shown, yet despite that she knew.

She knew that it was not all for done yet.

Somewhere along the line, her mind slowly began to shut down, to close in on itself in a futile attempt to block out the images that assaulted and raped her mind..

It was all just too much.

Then the very last images showed themselves, playing out the events of a terrible battle of titans, of creatures far beyond any in Halkeginia. Her mind focused, as icy-cold pain stabbed into her, showing her every detail, every sound of battle, every unspoken word.

She was shown the abyss.

The mage saw the black-grey form of her familiar's familiar growl and roar, as if it were the incarnation of demonic wrath. She saw it charge, unimaginably fast, its destructive powers paved way for the tiny girl to follow in its wake. Louise saw carnage she never thought possible in her life. That beast must be something greater that she had ever imagined something powerful beyond mere words.

Yet it died.

Just as each of the incarnations of the tainted woman, who kept on appearing her mind, crawled in futility, so did this beast—no, spirit—of power, at the whim of a man in gold.

A prideful, arrogant King who had slain him without lifting a finger!

The protector was vanquished, and with a cruel smile, the Golden King tore out the little girl's heart, watching her die, watching the light fade from her eyes.

And then the vision faded, and all was still, with Louise left in a void where nothing existed, an expanse of white stretching as far as she could see, like pristine snow.

"_So you saw that, magus?_"

It was a call from a cold, imperious voice - the consciousness of one long ago. It whispered in Louise's ears, yet not matter where she turned, she saw nothing. All was white.

"_I-I_…" Louise tried to answer, but words would not form in her shock.

_"You do not belong here. Sleep, young one. And forget."_

All faded to darkness, until the morning when she woke _screaming_.

* * *

><p>Notes: AlfheimWanderer is credit to the team.<p> 


	2. Under the Black, Black Moon

**The Third Magic**

_Notes: Credit to AlfheimWanderer, who's editing skills turned this into something worth reading and practically co-authored this. My writing skills are terrible, so please be gentle, ok?_

* * *

><p>Since she could remember, Maria had always been a curious little girl. A precocious youth with endless questions about the world, she was very bright for her age, and though she had the sweetness characteristic of youth, her blue eyes held the light of maturity. Sure, she played games like the other children, but where they liked to play "Knights and Bandits" or "Mages and Monsters", chasing each other around across imagined battlefields; she was the one who came up with the stories for their games. She would join in sometimes, but usually, she preferred to watch, figuring out things about the world from the way others acted or by what happened to them.<p>

Sometimes, Maria even found herself scrawling notes on the ground with a stick as she tried to puzzle out the "why's" and "where's" of the world. Some of these included "Where did babies come from?", "Why had her parents died while others lived?", "Why did some people have magic, while others didn't?", and most interestingly, "why did people fear and hate the elves when they had never even met one?"

Maria, on the other hand, had been all but raised by one since her parents had died in a great fire, and what had stood out most about "Big Sister Tiffania" was how kind and selfless she was.

Where the villagers she saw from time to time looked out for themselves, hoarding what wealth they had and living in fear of those they saw as strangers, Big Sis Tiffania shared what little she had with those who needed it without asking anything in return, giving more of herself than anyone would expect for the sake of others' happiness, living in hardship while smiling all the while…as if what happened to her didn't matter at all.

Not that this mattered by the teachings of the God, which they insisted was the one true holy power, with Brimir as His prophet, as they taught of how elves were the enemies of mankind, devils against which humans had to be vigilant, lest one be betrayed in one's time of need. Holy Wars had been fought against the elves, in (failed) attempts to wipe them from existence; Crusades had been launched to steal the ancestral elven lands that the elves had owned for nearly 6000 years; and for those who dared to question the Church's doctrine publicly, the Inquisition was never too far away…

Personally, Maria didn't see why they should believe in the teachings of a Church that tortured and murdered as it pleased, branding others as demonic villains when it was the one that started wars and destroyed families, but she supposed that most people did because they didn't like asking questions, being satisfied with an authority giving them all the answers so they wouldn't have to examine things themselves.

In her mind, that made them idiots who were misled by blind faith, without even thinking to open their eyes at the reality around them. Thus, even though Tiffania was incredibly generous to all those that needed help (and quite possibly the gentlest and most loving person Maria had ever known), she had to hide who and what she was, just because she was an elf, and elves were seen as "evil." It didn't matter that she had never hurt anyone in her life and in fact was a noted healer—she was an elf, and to those outside the orphanage, that would be all that mattered. Thus, every week or so, when Tiffania went into town to buy supplies to feed the many hungry mouths at the orphanage, she had to cover her head with a hat so people couldn't see her pointed ears—and because of the secrecy, she was seen as an outsider. Despite her best efforts, the half-elf often didn't get enough to feed everyone, since the villagers didn't give strange outsiders the best prices, and certainly not for the amounts she needed.

While Tiffania supplemented what she did acquire with the harvest from a small vegetable and herb garden she maintained, and from other edibles she found in the forest, there were still times when supply did not meet demand. When that happened, she would go hungry, giving what food there was to the orphans and deflecting any questions about why she wasn't eating.

"It's alright - all I need is to see that you're all happy," Tiffania would say with a gentle smile, though she always seemed to be looking off into the distance as she said it. "I'm fine if all of you are doing well."

And Maria had believed the half-elf for several years, until one night when she had snuck out of bed because of a bad dream, only to find Tiffania tossing and turning in her sleep, clutching her stomach and whimpering as if caught in the throes of a nightmare herself.

"No...don't...please..." the half-elf had whimpered, heavy tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. "Mother..."

She had felt quite torn at that sight, as Tiffania was the orphans' pillar of strength, the one they looked to when things were hard, who reassured them everything would be fine. To find out that things were not just fine, that Tiffania herself suffered and cried…was something none of them had expected. And Maria, feeling like an intruder who had seen something she shouldn't have, crept silently back to bed, her mind troubled...but this time by reality, not the stuff of dreams.

That was the moment when Maria stopped thinking of Tiffania as someone who would always be there, and started thinking of her as a person with her own griefs and insecurities. Frankly, it made her more curious about the half-elf, especially in the odd moments when their caretaker would spin strange tales of a time before magic, speaking of legends and myths unknown to any in the modern day.

Stories that were most certainly not told by the Church.

'…_Elvish stories.'_

Such "forbidden knowledge" should have frightened her, as elves were said to be demons, and their lore inherently evil, but secretly Maria was quite thrilled to know things no one else did, to know the tales Tiffania must have heard as a child.

And so the precocious girl rallied the other children one day, trying to convince them to listen to a story instead of run about and play.

"Why don't we ask Big Sister Tiffania to tell us a story?" Maria had said to the rest of the orphans. "She tells the most interesting tales - tales that no one in the village knows about."

One of the boys replied, "But that's stupid. Stories are stupid. Let's go play Mountains and Manticores again, or Knights and Bandits."

Maria sighed.

"Isn't that what we do most of the time anyway? Besides, even in Knights and Bandits, we're playing make-believe, pretending we're in a story," Maria said slowly, with a bemused smile. "So if we hear a story from Big Sis, won't we be able to come up with better games?" Then her smile turned…wicked. "Besides, I'm the one who normally keeps track of things, and I want to hear a story. Or does someone else want to sit out this time?"

She was met with sour expressions, as the young brunette had a point. Without her to referee things and help spin tales of heroism for their "adventures", things would be much less fun, and so they all agreed.

"Big Sis, Big Sis!"

The wild laughter of children rang in the spring air, a cheerful sound that would lift the hearts of even the most sorrowful individual. Hearing it, the 'big sis' in question turned around, seeing the orphans she loved so much come running up to her.

"Hello, Maria, Nunnally, Milly, Victor, Ruben, Charles…" Tiffania greeted them with a smile. She could name each and every one of them by heart—could tell them apart by voice or even by footstep without so much as a glance, for she loved them dearly. She smiled brilliantly at them all in their playful attitude, "What can I do for you all?"

"Big Sis Tiff," one of the larger boys walked out of the crowd—Charles—looking completely the scruffy, rowdy child he was, "could you tell us one of your stories? Maybe the one about the hunter?"

"It was a girl hunter, stupid!" A younger female in the audience shouted and slapped the back of Charles' head. Milly had always been a little prone to violence, but looked chagrined as Tiffania looked at her reproachfully.

Charles didn't notice this, and so crouched, clutching his head, "Ow! Why can't you hit like a girl, Milly?"

An unfortunate choice of words.

"I'll hit you like a—"

But Maria censured her with a serious _look. _The precocious one usually didn't involved with petty disputes, but she didn't have a choice, because if she didn't stop them now, their argument would go on for…well, quite a while.

"Fine, fine…sorry" Charles conceded, edging away from Milly. " I mean, I wanna hear the huntress story, Big Sis! I got everyone to come hear it too!"

At this, Maria pouted; it had been _her _idea to listen to Big Sis's story!

…so maybe she wasn't quite as mature as she thought she was. It was hard to be when one was all of ten years old.

Tiffania giggled softly at the children's antics. It wasn't the first time they had asked for a story, but it had been long months since the last time they had gotten together like this.

"Well, I'll give it my best then," she said warmly, thinking back to the fairy tales that her mother had taught her when she was a babe. "A long, long time ago, before the Founder came to this land…"

"Wait! But…didn't history start with the Founder? So how can there be anything before that?" Ruben interrupted, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. He'd gone into the village with Tiffania once or twice, and had heard the village priest speak of the official version of history...

Maria, decidedly not amused by the interruption, seemed torn between wanting to slap him or to hold her forehead in her palm.

Tiffania grew silent for a moment, her long ears twitching up and down as a frown came to her lovely face. She was unsure of what to say about religion to the children, since most of it was a tissue of lies – if one that was accepted without question in most of Halkeginia. If she renounced the Church, she would undoubtedly be hurting the children's futures. But if she renounced what her mother had taught her… she didn't want to go through with that thought.

Stories were all she had left of her mother after that terrible day, when knights in shining armor came to Saxe-Gotha and…

The half-elf trembled as she remembered how they had torched the land, cut down her unresisting mother (and raped the corpse), and then had come for her.

…if it were not for the one spell she knew, and the intervention of her childhood friend Mathilda, she would now be dead—or worse, kept alive and ravished as a sex slave, destined to be raped until the day she died. So many others had suffered terrible fates, being tortured, killed or worse just because of where they were.

And she was supposed to believe in something when its followers had murdered her mother, her father, her neighbors and pretty much everyone else in Saxe-Gotha?

"Stupid Rube," One of the older girls grunted, "you've been listening to the village priest again, the dirty old man who always ogles Big Sis Tiffania as she walks by. Are you really going to say he's right? Or are you going to believe Big Sis?"

"Big Sis, of course!" Ruben said defensively, waving his arms as if to deny any intention of doing otherwise.

"Then stop talking when she's telling a story!" Nunnally shouted, punching Ruben's arm and earning a yelp of undignified pain.

Immediately exchanging his brash attitude for a meek one, Ruben ran up to Tiffania and looked up her with large, dewy eyes (with the other—purely coincidental—happy side effect of being outside the reach of Nunnally's arms). The half-elf just sighed, affectionately ruffling the child's hair.

"A long, long time ago, before the Founder came to this land, when spirits walked the world and the two moons were yet one…" Tiffania recited what she could remember, allowing herself to become lost in thought. "There lived a huntress who shone with inner light. Called the princess of the moon, she was skilled in the ways of magic and bow, and she taught those arts to the dwellers of the nameless land, that they might keep the demons at bay…"

* * *

><p>Some time later, Tiffania sighed. Telling these stories always reminded her of happier times with her mother—and why those times were no more, because of the cruelty of man. Every time she reached into the past, such things took a lot out of her, as it forced her to remember how tragedy had happened time and time again.<p>

There was really no escape from the nightmare, from the fear of what might happen if her mother's murderers found her again. Mathilda had promised to keep her safe, but there was only so much her friend could do…

But that was something she'd always been worried about, and not a pressing matter. The more immediate problem was that she had planned to go into town to pick up supplies for the orphanage again – but it was nearly dusk, and the farmers would be packing their wagons, preparing to leave. If she didn't get there in time, the children might go hungry, and to her, that was unthinkable.

She had sacrificed much so that those children who had been orphaned in Saxe-Gotha would not have to be left alone to die in the wreckage of their villages and towns. And after that, she wasn't about to fail now…

So it was that Tiffania ran, picking her way through the forest as quickly as she could in a race to get to the village before the sun went down, and nothing was left. If she was lucky, she might get there as the last few stragglers were getting ready to leave; eager to offload what little remained of their precious cargos for a token price.

But…_ something was wrong…_

Tiffania stopped abruptly, more from instinct than conscious thought, as her long ears picked up on something odd: a strange keening in the distance, mingled with something she couldn't quite discern but wanted no conscious part of.

_Something is very, very wrong._

A chill ran over the back of the half-elf's neck and down the spine, pain throbbing in the back of her head, and the part of her linked to the world screamed as if burned.

_**RUN.**_

So her instincts screamed, as nature sent an impulse for the body to run away in the face of death, surely as to otherwise was to die.

_**RUN.**_

Darkness shot through Tiffania's veins, the whole of her body shaking as paralyzing fear spread to her extremities, as her nerves, her brain, her muscles tensing for a fight or flight response brought on by the primal geas of survival.

_**RUN.**_

… but to where? Her mind told her to run away, to run fast and far and not stop until she could run no longer, but everything was _wrong _and _twisted._ She froze, dropping low, trying to stay hidden, using what woodcraft she had to remain unseen.

_Something_ padded by with a low, guttural growl, the shadows darkening in their wake, staining the world pitch black as it passed, _hungry._

Tiffania stopped breathing as the alien presence passed by, hoping it would not notice her. Sounds were muted, shadows lengthened, the air felt heavy inducing nausea...

This... this was no natural creature.

Tiffania knew them all, wolves, snakes, bird, and the other great beasts. She even knew of magical beasts like salamanders, dragons, griffins, and she knew that this was none of them, an abomination from somewhere beyond the world.

This...this was no mere spirit.

As a half-elf, Tiffania was attuned to the power of the spirits and the "Great Purpose" of nature, the harmonious balance of all things, and so she could feel how just by existing, this..._thing_ corrupted all that it touched.

_It was a monster._

Crimson eyes glowed dimly in the darkness, with colors, light, everything growing darker in its wake as if a black sun had come falling down, releasing a poisonous aura that billowed over all existence.

As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she caught sight of the clearing between the village and the forest...and what awaited there. In a spaced crammed to the point of overflowing with human flesh and blood, dozens of black beasts feasted, bodies covered in fur and scales as black as night, no sheen on their hairs, no glimmer to the scales, as if they drew in all light and devoured it.

Chimeras they were, impossible beings with the body and head of a wolf, the hind quarters and tail of a snake, wings like birds of prey - yet at the same time, they had no one form as their shapes were constantly changing as if reflecting the primal nightmares in each mind. Shadows writhed around them as if with a will of their own, as if each congealed shade had a malevolent intelligence that sought..._life._

They were creature of fell and utter madness, and Tiffania knew them by an ancient name.

_Demon._

A man tried to run before the black tide, but lupine claws descending from the sky sliced him open from nose to the back of his head.

A hysterical girl made it into her house and slammed the door behind her. But to these chaotic beings, wood and brick were no stronger than paper, and in seconds the structure was demolished.

Crowds of people dashing to run away, _**run away**_ through the streets - but the shadows were already there waiting, and decapitated them.

Several even tried to fight back, raising pitchforks, axes, hatchets against the invaders-but their struggles were in vain, as their improvised implements of impalement shattered and splintered against the demons' hides.

The beasts howled into the air, triumphant...and reaped a bloody harvest, with a violence that stained even the blackness of the shadows a crimson hue.

Blood ran.

Tiffania's heart thudded in her chest, fluttering in a panic. She had never imagined that there could be so much blood in the world, and to see this hell on earth again, this ocean of ichor, arms, feet, bones, brains, fingers, organs, and other vivisected parts chilled her.

Even now, one of the beasts clutched a man's head in its maw, with fangs many times sharper than any knife. Tiffania could vaguely recall images of that man, of when he smiled and laughed with the crowd, flirting with the young daughters of farmers who sometimes came to market. He had once been a woodcutter...

And now he was without a head, blood and brains spilling from the cavity of a shattered skull.

Another of the beasts tossed the woodcutter's body up into the air, the pack of demonic hounds ripping it to pieces as it came down, savagely ripping it to pieces as the crunch-squelch of bone and flesh and blood being digested and rent echoed, mingling with sounds of gorging, the chewing of meat, cries of help, and death screams which couldn't quite be called words anymore.

In the distance, smoke billowed into the sky of dusk, as angry tongues of flame licked at wood, stone and paint to the accompaniment of acidic _hiss-crackle-pops_, punctuated now and then by cries of indescribable agony from those who could not escape.

_**"UWOOOOGAHHHHHHH!"**_

At the sound of a demon's howl, _others _responded, guttural roars, hisses, shrieks and wails of banshees filling the air. Dark things arose from the bowels of earth, illogical and unnatural, as if the gate to the underworld had been opened by the scarlet glut, a tribute of blood to the blood god.

By virtue of her nature, Tiffania felt them.

Her senses shouting, screaming, crying and begging for her to run, that these things were an affront to nature. That they must be destroyed, but that nothing she could do would so much as scratch them. Such things could not be harmed save by magic, a superior illusion that would crush them as delusions...but her only spell was to make people forget.

For years, such a spell had been enough to protect the children but-

_-The children!_

Tiffania's eyes widened in horror, snapping the paralysis of the shadows as her nerves split, one after another, her spinal cord going berserk, as if it was about to leap from her back from sheer agony alone, as blood intermingled with sweat and unconscious tears.

The children.

The children needed her!

…_I have to go back!_

Determination washed away doubt and fear, as the half-elf sprang into dash with the speed of a meteor, becoming impossibly fleet of foot by necessity alone. As quickly as she could, she raced for the orphanage, yet even as the sounds of the demonic feast left her, worry gnawed at the edges of her mind, eating away at what little hope she had left.

It was all she could do to just keep putting one foot in front of the other, to summon her willpower to herself and keep on running without looking back.

But the hunters followed, and no matter how fast she ran, how she tried to move stealthily and rapidly through the labyrinth of branches and undergrowth in the forest, the lustful baying of the demonic pursuers grew ever louder, till at last she could hear neither the beating of her heart or the sound of her thoughts.

Darkness closed in.

Night fell.

And still the foebeasts came. Her breaths were ragged now, and she could not keep herself silent much longer, not with thoughts of keeping the children safe slowly being burned away by the fear of death. She had not thought about her life as important for many years, but in the face of a certain end, it seemed her body had other ideas.

_'Ahhhh!'_

In her panic stricken haze, a wizened root caught Tiffania's foot, causing her to pitch forward, then back, falling into a mix of leaves and mud. She wanted to cry and whine, to shout and hate the world for placing this root here so inconspicuously.

Tiffania's frightened mind screamed, and she tugged against the root.

But it held fast.

The sounds of the hunt drew close-too close, and in her fear Tiffania froze. Oddly, it was this action that saved her, the stillness of her form causing the mass of shadow and fur that passed merely centimeters above her to disregard her as threat or prey. She could smell it, the rank, fetid scent of death and decay that oozed from the beast's flesh, and she thought that any moment it would arrest itself in midleap and bite her in two.

But the moment passed, and the beast bounded away deeper into the forest with unnaturally powerful leaps.

The half-elf let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding-but before she could draw breath, she realized where the monster was headed.

…_The Orphanage!_

Wrenching her food free with strength lent by desperation, Tiffania began to run once more, tears flowing freely from her eyes as nightmare images of what the monsters had done to the villagers played in her mind.

_I have to protect the children!_

"Haah-ah. Ha. Ah. Ha."

To her relief, everything was silent. Only the pale light of the crimson moon illuminated her approach, but there was no blood, no sign of stray body parts, and no screams or sobs or cries of pain.

That was good... right?

A nervous swallow.

She wondered where the children were. Did they see the monsters coming and go into hiding? And had the demons...ignored that succulent young flesh?

It was unlikely, but this false hope kept Tiffania from collapsing. Closing the last few meters, the half-elf reached her cottage, finding it dark inside.

The doors and windows were shut and sealed tight, much to her puzzlement.

_Grr..._

_'...!'_

A soft growl could be heard from the other side of the wood. Instantly, the pangs of panic returned, doubly strong, her heart beating a frenzied drumbeat as Tiffania pushed and pushed, banging on the door with all her might.

It fell open with a c_latter, _and Tiffania had her worst fears realized.

There, in the middle of the room, was little Maria, shaking in fear, eyes large and filled with tears, hair and skin smeared with blood. Around her, circled four—no, _five_—demons, each growling like wolves with pieces of meat inside their mouths.

An arm.

A small leg.

A head, from which vacant eyes stared out accusingly.

And little Maria was helpless, sitting in a roiling red sea, with shadow of death circling around her.

Tiffania knew then that she would give her life to save the little girl.

When the shadows lunged at last, so did she. When the monsters pounced, with maws of rows of teeth drooling blood and viscera, Tiffania covered Maria with her body. The needlelike fangs dug into her arm, seeming to inject venom, ripping at her body, her back, every bit of exposed skin, but Tiffania held the little, shivering body close, as if letting go meant gruesome deaths for them both… and prayed…

…_Someone, help, please! Somewhere in the universe…!_

* * *

><p>Maria knew the moment she heard the growls that they were something terrible and inhuman, beings of nightmare incarnate. She saw the monsters running towards the orphanage, backlit by the orange glow of flames over the village, shadowed forms growing larger not as they closed the distance, but as the night came and the shadows lengthened.<p>

Crying out, she gathered together all the children in earshot, and together, all of them ran to hide in the cottage.

But it was not enough.

Not nearly enough.

Even with all the windows and doors closed, the shadows sank into the building. Through the cracks in stone and chips in wood, they came, materializing into finespun figments of terror, their eyes were the color of blood, dim in the night, yet glowing with an unnatural hunger.

Little Maria knew, from their razor shape teeth each as large as her forearm and in rows that reminded her of stories of sea monsters, that they were here to feed. That they didn't see the orphans as people or living things, but merely sacs of meat to be devoured and eaten up, used for raw material.

_No._

She wanted to live, but there was nowhere to run._ It was a bad idea to hide here, _she realized. But her epiphany was too little, too late. Soon she would be dead, soon the evidence of her mistake would be no more.

The monstrous things attacked and circled and swarmed, and in the darkness of the cottage, the shrill screams of children filled the air as they were picked off, one by one.

Some tried to escape, to break past the circle of death, but they failed.

Some tried to hold still, but they were simply ripped to shreds.

Some tried to fight back, to lunge and thrash and scream-but they were silenced, their throats torn out.

Soon, too soon… Maria was the last one alive. She had no other children to hold onto and huddle with, none to hope would survive, none to shamefully hope would distract the predators for even a moment longer. All had been pulled away by those drooling maws, by ravenous beasts that hungered for human flesh.

_'I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I DON'T WANT TO DIE!'_

Just as she thought the end was there, she heard sounds from the outside.

_Had villagers come to help? _She wondered, even knowing they could nothing against such creatures. But it was not a villager, it was Tiffania. _Is she going to use elven magic to protect me?_

No magic was forthcoming, however, simply the half-elf rushing to block the teeth of the chaos beasts with her own body, shielding Maria from their jaws and claws with her flesh. At this, Maria's heart sank...

_We're going to die, aren't we? We're going to die...and if it weren't for me, Big Sis Tiffania might have a chance. If it weren't for me, everyone might still be alive._

Tiffania had her eyes closed, tears streaming down her face in silent pain as the demons ripped into her back and limbs. Maria wanted-badly-to reach up and comfort the half-elf, to tell her it would be ok, as Tiffania had so often done for them when they were scared-but she was too afraid. Her tiny body shivered and all she could do was press herself against her "big sister's" bosom. She was so frightened, but her eyes were wide open, unlike Tiffania's.

_Huh...she's saying something._

But what? A spell?

_No._

It sounded, from Tiffania's whispers, that the half-elf was praying.

_To who? And how would that help at all?_

God, if he even existed, wouldn't save them. He didn't save people at all - he just watched them die without a shred of pity and then condemned them to hell. He gave power to the nobles and let them abuse the peasants as they saw fit without retribution or censure. And he told the peasants to slave and accept their lot...

God had probably sent the demons to cause human suffering for his viewing pleasure.

A rushing wind, and in the next moment, her body was almost blown away, as a wave of magical energy raged through the cottage like a storm. Around them, through the sea of blood filling the cottage, the ground glowed silver. Arcane symbols and sigils of power sprang into being, shifting and turning with a fierce inner light-from which the demon beasts recoiled.

Whimpers of pain echoed around her as the runes flared, as if burning into flesh, and each drop of blood that now streamed down Tiffania's back from the many lacerations there seemed to shine as if with a holy power as the half-elf continued to whisper. The scarlet light formed a circle, many circles, as light accelerated, converged and built upon itself, spiraling and spinning.

_Is this the magic of the Elves that some of the villagers talk about in whispers?_

Maria was a curious girl, but this was not a good time to be curious.

The air seemed to pulsate with a strange aura, with the energy growing exponentially thicker, until everything else in the world seemed to be erased.

_Clang!_

The sound of something shattering, as a massive burst of prana exploded out from the runic circles and bathed the room in warm, prismatic light, so intense that even the shadowy forms of the monsters began to waver.

Maria looked on with fervor; she would remember the next moments for the rest of her life-no, she would remember it even when she died and was reborn.

_"...the princess of the moon, skilled in the ways of magic and bow..."_

From the circles burst an ethereal light: a woman glowing with the pale light of the moon. Her armor was the color of the starry night, and her robes were red as blood...just as her eyes. Her hair, done in a long braid, was the pale white of fresh-fallen snow, and every one of her movements was enchanting.

As she advanced, the demons shrank back, and in the darkness of the night, Maria could only see the flash of silver weapons and snow-white hair as she wove around the innumerable maws and claws of the creatures. They attacked all at once in a frenzy, but it was futile - no matter how large, fast, or brutal they were, they could not harm the spirit unless they touched her.

...and if they tried to touch her, she simply sliced whatever part that tried.

"…_that they might keep the demons at bay…"_

As she attacked, the foe beasts fell back, hoping to put some distance between them and their attacker, but even this did no good. A bow of red light congealed from nothingness over the woman's left arm, and silver streaks of light rent the darkness, blazing through the expanse.

Each shot slammed into a different enemy, and as the arrows connected, the demons died, liquefying into some kind of tar-like substance, before being absorbed into the ground.

In seconds, the clash is over. Maria, Tiffania, and... whoever this newcomer was were the only ones in the cottage. The scent of blood was horrifying, but Maria could only look on in awe.

The bow disappeared from whence it came, and the mysterious woman turned to them with a bow.

"...the princess of the moon…" Maria whispered, her eyes alit with wonder. "Are you… really...?"

She did not complete her sentence, as the adrenaline that had kept her going finally wore off, her eyes rolling back in her head. Still, before she passed out, she managed to gasp out. "Help... Big Sis... Tiffania..."

The child passed out, but did not fall, clutched in Tiffania's arms as she was. At this sagging, the half-elf opened her eyes, looking around to see that the danger had passed, and a white-haired stranger was looking at her.

A quiet aria was chanted, and in the pale moonlight, torn flesh knit back together, with the half-elf's eyes widening as she recognized the touch of a healing spell.

"...you are...?"

"I am but a Counter Guardian. Upon your summoning, I have come forth," she announced in cool, regal tones, her voice like a bell. "From this time forth, my bow shall be with you and your fate shall be with me. Thus, I ask: are you—"

"Thank you..." Tiffania whispered, interrupting the query.

"...hm?"

"...for saving Maria..."

With that, Tiffania too passed out, leaving the newly summoned familiar as the only conscious one in the cottage. Fortunately for the half-elf and her charge, the summoned Servant had superhuman reflexes and caught her with a sigh, carrying both the unconscious ones over to a relatively clean area.

"...a strange summoning this time, and an even stranger summoner. But I think... it may not be terrible. Sleep well, Master. May your dreams be kinder than this cruel reality."

* * *

><p>Haunting echoes of pain and terror filled her mind, bloodcurdling shrieks and cries of bitter torment chasing after her no matter how far she ran, no matter how fast. She panted loudly as feet slapped against the forest floor, her heart pounding in her chest as it frantically tried to keep up with the demands of her body.<p>

_**RUN.**_

The command screamed through every nerve, as Maria pushed herself harder, harder, harder than she'd ever pushed before, hoping to escape.

_**RUN.**_

Strides lengthened, chest heaved, eyes darted about frenetically, searching for any signs of the pursuers, the all-devouring shadow that consumed all in its path, eradicating all life, all dreams, all hope of salvation.

_**RUN.**_

The crimson moon shone down upon the land, illuminating the world with its cruel radiance.

_Whirr!_

A flash of darkness darted out. Maria turned-it was over in an instant.

A short scream, the sound of a body hitting the ground, lupine claws gouging out a once pretty face, as the smell of blood wafted through the air.

A crunch of powerful jaws, and a body was devoured in one bite, with the the sound of dissolving flesh, shattering bones, the slow chewing of a human emanating from within the chaos beast as-

_**"NOOOOOOO!"**_

-Maria woke screaming, her body shaking as a fierce cry tore from her throat. She was hyperventilating, eyes closed shut in terror as hands moved instinctively to arms, legs, face, gut, chest to reassure herself that they were still attached. Only when she finished did reason return, though sharp phantom pain were still there, tearing, ripping agonies that lingered in every inch of her body as if one of the great beasts had devoured her whole.

_'I'm... alive?'_

The screams stopped as the girl took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the cool air fill her lungs and soothe her stung and tingling flesh, her body shaking uncontrollably, then exhaled, repeating this cycle several times until she regained some awareness of her bearings.

She was in motion, with the shaking seeming to come from an outside source.

She was alive, and uninjured.

...but she was also in great pain, suffering from wounds real and imagined, physical and emotional, with her head throbbing as if it was about to explode. Her body felt heavy, as if carved from a single block of lead, and Maria had not the energy to even open her eyes.

_'What happened? '_

Images of a nightmare made real came unbidden to her mind, reminding her of tragedy and sorrow worse than any child should have to suffer. A night of needle-like teeth and vorpal claws, of guttural cries and haunting death rattles. And as the memories of her friends' bodies ravaged and torn filled her, all she could do was sit there, hurting, as unwanted tears leaked from her eyes.

She… why was she still alive?

Her mind pushed away the memories of gore with great difficulty, focusing on the moments that had come just as she and Tiffania were about to die, when a radiant figure shining with the light of the moon had appeared to save them. Had that... not been a dream?

Had the… princess of the moon… truly come in answer to big sister Tiffania's prayers?

A jolt of curiosity and wonder shot through her at the thought, her eyes creaking open reflexively as hope edged out despair, excitement overtaking the multitude of other senses that told her to sleep.

"So you're awake," a voice called to her, a mature sensual voice that sounded of bells and birds and moonlight, of all the things that Maria had barely enjoyed before… before…

With a nervous swallow, the girl opened her eyes fully, daubing the tears dry.

She would be strong-had to be strong. She wouldn't cry, not yet, not when she was awake, for fear itself was the enemy, and a terrible premonition could bring forth a terrible reality.

Looking around, Maria found that she was riding in the back of a small, wooden cart being pulled by a mule. Beside her was her big sister, who was also sleeping, thrashing and whimpering as if caught in the throes of yet another nightmare...but at least she was safe. More miraculous was that the half-elf was whole and hale, apparently, without any of the terrible wounds the beasts had inflicted upon her.

And then there was the one driving the cart: the beautiful warrior who saved them from certain death at the claws of the demons. The moon princess was looking back at Maria over her shoulder, and all the little girl could think about was her captivating red eyes, her pearl-like skin glowing in the light of dusk, her snow-white hair gleaming like gold in the molten sun...

_'No...I have to focus...'_

Maria shook her head, clearing it of such strange thoughts as she continued to survey her surroundings.

The cart was being moving down a small, dirt road that had clearly seen better days. The sky was orange-red, like the color of the fires late at night, a shade or two off from the crimson red vermillion of freshly spilled blood that Maria had gotten an in depth study of the previous night. Beyond the trees bordering the road, there was smoke as far as the eye could see in all directions, a haze of black and grey extending to the horizon.

In the back of her mind, an errant thought registered which she didn't want to believe, a thought that wasn't true, couldn't be true...could it?

_'Albion is burning.'_

Just like her old village had burned. Just as home had burned, with all she knew destroyed by fire in a tableau of ruin and human selfishness, accentuated by the sickly-sweet stench of death.

_'Not again...not...'_

Realizing that her body was about to spiral out of control into tears once more, her eyes slipped back to the enigmatic figure watching her, as she grit her teeth, forcing herself not to cry, forcing herself to think about something else... _anything else_, as her mind fixed on a question. But before she could ask, the moon princess spoke again.

"Calm down, you're safe." The moon princess said when she noticed Maria's distraught. "The beasts won't get you while I'm around and I haven't seen any since daybreak." It was early morning, but the sky and land did not feel like it at all.

"Are-are you really the princess of the moon…?" Maria whispered tentatively, taking in the woman's mantle of red and her armor of ebon and silver, far finer than anything she had ever seen in her life. She remembered the lethal grace with which the archer had conducted herself, tearing apart the darkness with bolts of silver light.

She immediately scolded herself and her curiosity, as it was not her place to ask such things of those far above her in station.

And indeed, the white-haired woman shivered as she stared Maria, looking almost like Big Sister Tiffania had when she said things would be ok. Had she insulted her, Maria wondered. After all, to have made those monsters go away, the woman must be someone blessed with holy magic.

Thus, she could only be the moon princess or some other goddess who had come to save them, right? Who had answered their prayers when God and Founder Brimir had left her and her friends all to die in the orphanage...just as He and his Prophet had done years ago when she was first orphaned? Did this mean that...everything the Church said had truly been a lie then?

The white-haired woman shivered and stared at Maria. Had she insulted her?

But far from being offended, the strange woman simply smiled, vaulting from her seat at the front of the cart to kneel by Maria, pulling the little girl close and patting her on the head.

"Huhu... you're so cute," the radiant one sighed with a soft chuckle. "An adorable little girl..."

She trailed off, wistful for a time, before releasing the young girl from her embrace. Her savior smiled, inclining her head slightly, and just looking on from the sidelines, Maria felt as if she was being blessed by a holy radiance, as if everything would be alright, despite the horrors that had already transpired.

"You can call me that if you want - I'll be princess of the moon just for you," the woman said, rubbing Maria's head gently, though she looked up at the twin orbs in the sky and frowned a moment later. "Though which moon is up to you, little one."

Hope blossomed in Maria's heart. If this woman was truly the princess of legends, she would be able to keep away the evil things of the world.

She would be safe and her big sister would be safe too.

"Now, what is your name?"

Maria stared up at the goddess with large, round eyes, thinking that the woman was dazzling.

"My name is Maria, mi'lady," she said softly, bowing her head as she didn't wish to offend. "W-where are we? T-that is, if you don't mind me asking…?"

The white huntress reached out and lifted the young girl's chin with her fingertips, giving her a warm smile.

"None of that, Maria," she said softly but firmly. "I am not someone to who you should bow your head, as I exist simply to save others. Hold your head high and smile...that's all I need to be happy."

With that, the mistress of the bow returned to her seat, pulling on the reins slightly to adjust the plodding of the mule.

_'Those words...'_

Maria swallowed, remembering how they echoed what Tiffania had said to the children so many times before. She didn't know if it was true or not, but she definitely hoped it would be - that the princess of the moon who had taught those in the age of legends would be their strength.

"As for where we are going, that depends on your big sister," the woman in clothes of shadow and flame noted, looking towards the stirring figure of the half-elf. "And from the looks of it, she's waking up too."

It took a few moments for Tiffania to orient herself, shedding the cobwebs of dazed half-dreaming that still clung to her eyes as she noticed where she was...and more importantly, who was with her.

"Ah!" the half-elf squeaked, nervously noticing that the attention was on her now. She looked shyly at her savior, but found herself unable to meet the other's eyes. "I-I… thank you for saving us again! I'm sorry about summoning you here… Auuu…"

Her savior smiled, inclining her head slightly, and just looking on from the sidelines, Maria felt as if she was being blessed by a holy radiance, as if everything would be alright, despite the horrors that had already transpired.

"Upon your call, I have been summoned, yes," the summoned one acknowledged. "But I am simply a Counter Guardian, who exists to protect the balance of the world, and so I require no thanks."

From Maria's vantage point, it looked as if her big sister was blushing hard, embarrassed at what she had done. The younger girl knew that expression on Tiffania's face, because whenever big sis got embarrassed or nervous, she would nibble on her lower lip lightly and her ears would twitch up and down like a bird's wings.

"Ah… ah… um… Miss Counter Guardian…" Tiffania stammered, trying to think of what to say to someone who needed no thanks, who was seemingly divine.

"Oh, that's right! We never did formalize our relationship, did we?" the "Counter Guardian" noted, her face alit with realization as she thought back to the night before. She turned to the half-elf with a serious look on her face, the smile not so warm anymore. "As you have called me to this distant land, entrusting your fate to my bow, I take it you are my Master?"

Master? Maria wanted to ask about it, but she held her breath. She wanted to hear her big sister's reply.

"I'm sorry!" Tiffania bowed again, "I had no choice but to summon you… I never thought it would work! And-and-and… now you're bound to me…"

"Ah, this?" The goddess raised one of her hands, showing a brilliant rune that glowed in the light of dusk. "It is certainly a complex code, but as a counter guardian, I am called when the world is in danger, serving..." She tilted her head, as if evaluating something. "...the Great Purpose. There is no need to apologize, not to me."

Tiffania's eyes shot open in recognition of the name, as that was the basis behind the religion of the elves and the spirits of the land. Maria looked more confused, but kept quiet.

"I… see…" the busty half-elf said, even though she obviously did not.

"It seems this time around, I am to protect you and this land," the goddess—Counter Guardian?—inquired solicitously. "As this is case, I accept you as my Master, miss...?"

"Tiffania, ma'am," the half-elf in question replied. "Tiffania... Westwood."

It wasn't her full name, but then she had never told anyone of the family into which she had been born: the Tudors.

"Very well, Tiffania. Call me...Archer, if you wish," the Counter Guardian acknowledged, though she seemed slightly amused by the choice of title, as if making a private joke. "Now... let's get you all to safety before the sun sets again…"

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon of the next day before the trio discovered any signs of human life other than their own. Save for the quiet clopping of the mule's hooves and the sound of their breathing, they had travelled in silence, not knowing what to say, concentrating on their surroundings or simply lost in thought.<p>

Maria looked like she wanted to ask a thousand questions but was too embarrassed by her own lack of understanding to know where to even begin; Archer (or the "Lady Archer", as Maria had dubbed her) was constantly scanning their environs for danger, though attentive to the needs of her passengers; and Tiffania...

_'Auu…Miss Archer is so nice to protect us… and Maria is so strong…'_

The half-elf kept thinking back to what had happened to the children, each of their faces flashing in her mind, along with the grisly end that had awaited them when she hadn't been there to protect them. She'd left them alone, thinking that it would be just fine if she slipped away to the village to pick up some bread and other supplies as she always did. But...but...

_'...the children. Everyone around me died...and once again I couldn't do anything...'_

It was a testament Maria's mental strength that the young brunette hadn't broken down yet, but the same could not be said for Tiffania, who found herself on the verge of collapse. Her self-image as a provider, satisfied with the hard but happy life she had led, had shattered like glass, for there was no one to provide for anymore. The happy smiles of the children she spent years caring for, spent years raising... all those poor orphans…

...they were dead, and it was all her fault.

Tiffania felt her arms go weak as she sat in the bed of the cart, just like her legs and the rest of her numb body. She didn't think she could even lift a finger at the moment, much less stand up. All she could do was keep her head down and let her long blonde hair hide the tears welling up in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, heavy droplets dripping down her chin, leaving moist circles on her tattered, bloodstained dress.

Out of the corners of her eyes, the half-elf snuck a peak at Maria and Miss Archer, stifling a sob as she tried to stem the flow of tears. She had to be strong for Maria, for what kind of example would it set if she broke down now? Yet...

"Hmm, it seems this town was attacked as well," the mysterious 'Archer' commented, her words providing a welcome interruption from Tiffania's litany of depression.

Managing to choke back her weeping for the moment, the blonde managed to look up, her gaze falling on the remains of a large settlement-a village that was almost a town. Clusters of houses could be seen scattered about, with maybe a hundred or more in total, but all showed some signs of damage, whether scorch marks, caved in roofs and doors...or in some cases, being smashed to rubble.

But more frightening yet, a fresh coat of what seemed like red paint was smeared over the ground, and the rancid smells of trash, soil and stale body odor that usually marked human settlements were masked by an even more overwhelming stench: the putrid scent of mingled sweat, blood, and excrement wafting from the still warm remnants of a night of terror.

...and yet, it was silent, as not even flies would descend upon a land so tainted by the shadow...

"... urk... ack..."

The sound of gagging and retching filled the air as Maria ran to the side of the cart and emptied a slurry of bile and digestive juices onto the side of the road. As she hadn't eaten since yesterday, the sour tang of acid filled the air, a distinctive odor that twined with that of death to become quite... unpleasant.

Tiffania was sorely tempted to join her, but she held herself back, just letting cold numbness fill her from within.

"This… this is terrible…" she mumbled, swallowing as she took in the scope of the surrounding destruction. "What were those things…?"

The lady Archer turned at the sound of the nearly inaudible query, her eyes coming to a rest on Tiffania's quivering form with a thoughtful frown on her face.

"While I have faced such beasts before, large scale outbreaks are unusual," the bow user noted, surveying the damage. "Their activity is usually localized around a central coordinator, but this time it seems more wide-spread and disorganized. Strange…"

"Could… could this be happening all over Albion?" Tiffania whispered hoarsely, her thoughts going to Mathilda, who she knew to be somewhere in the Halkeginian mainland. Hopefully, her old friend was far enough away that this wasn't affecting her. If she wasn't...if she had somehow been killed...

Tiffania didn't even want to think about what she'd do.

"It's possible, which would explain why I was called forth." The lady Archer's eyes were hard and cold, an expression that sent a shiver down the half-elf's spine as the powerful bow user turned away. While the Counter Guardian had saved them, the sheer power and skill she wielded frightened the timid half-elf, as it reminded her of the elite mage-knights that had once destroyed her home.

_'But if she is a being who protects the balance, one that can drive demons back with her presence alone...then she must be one of the most powerful mages in the entire world...'_

To know that such a being was her protector was simultaneously thrilling...and terrifying.

"Tiffania... you should go look after Maria," the mysterious Archer offered, her words hitting Tiffania hard, as she hadn't been able to do that. "She needs you now."

Shaking herself out of her shocked stupor, the half-elf did as she was bade and moved slowly over to her charge, touching the child gently as the girl finished spitting out what little remained in her stomach.

"Shh, shh," Tiffania whispered, trying to sooth the shaking girl by rubbing gentle circles on Maria's back as the cart plodded on through the center of town.

The half-elf would have preferred to avoid the village of death, but earlier in the day, the woman called Archer had mentioned that they would need food and other supplies if they were going to get any fair distance from the danger zone-things that, unfortunately, could only be found in a town.

Here, with the evident suddenness of the attack, it was likely that some supplies remained. True, there was the possibility that other refugees might have gotten to the local pantries and granaries before them, but neither Tiffania nor Maria much, and the mysterious Archer didn't need to eat so long as the rune on her hand supplied her with something called 'prana', so a few grains and dried, hard bread would sustain the small group for a few weeks.

Still, if it were to be done, it were best done quickly, keeping the group together in case of an ambush, so the lady Archer led the group into the town with Maria following her at several paces back, and Tiffania close to Maria, holding the reins to the mule.

Eventually, they came upon the village granary, a solid-looking structure that was in relatively good condition, aside from one of the walls being gouged by claws, with the others singed by scorch marks on all sides-and the pile of half-burnt corpses around it, as if people had tried to flock to it for safety from the fire, but had found none and so had died.

Oddly, the door-a construct of solid oak bound with metal-was still intact, and seeing this, the white-haired woman motioned for Maria and Tiffania to stay back as she made her approach, trying to push it open.

There was a slight _creak_,as the door shifted slightly-but then came to a stop, as it had apparently been barred from the other side.

_'That explains why the others were trapped outside, at least...' _the Counter Guardian thought to herself, pulling back to see if would be any reaction from within.

With her sensitive ears, Tiffania heard whispers on the other side of the door: the voices of women and children chattering softly, before a gruff, masculine voice silenced them.

"Who's there?" that same voice called out with a touch of wariness. "Whoever it is, go away - you're not welcome here!"

"We are but a group of refugees, the only survivors of an attack on our village," Miss Archer called out, her voice filled with authority. "We mean you no harm, and simply wish to acquire some provisions for the long journey ahead of us."

"W-we would be thankful for anything you could spare..." Tiffania chimed in timidly, tugging on her hood, hoping that if the people inside came out they would not see her ears.

Only silence greeted their words for a time, as the half-elf shared a sidelong glance with her companions, listening for any reaction from within. It seemed that one of the women inside was sympathetic to their plight, but the man, possibly their leader, told her to quiet down rather rudely.

It was this spokesman who called out their answer.

"No, go away!" the man barked gruffly. "We're not sharing anything with you beggars!"

"Please, we've been traveling for days without anything to eat," Tiffania pleaded, hopelessness in her eyes, "I'm not asking for much, just enough to feed my little sister Maria. She doesn't look so well."

But the man was unmoved.

"I'm not saying it again, go away!" the man all but snarled. "We don't need you… you… freeloaders here! We have our own mouths to feed!"

"Oh, that's it…" Miss Archer muttered, her hands balling up into fists as her eyes seemed to flash cold, an arctic chill permeating her voice. "Either share what you can or I'll break down the door."

From the coldness in her tone, those listening knew that she wasn't kidding, a thought that horrified those within the granary. The solid walls and door of the place were their only defense against the beasts that had prowled these lands, and if the door was broken...

"Y-you're bluffing," a considerably unnerved voice cried out, either trying to convince himself or the others inside with him, of the truth of his words. "You're just a woman! Y-you wouldn't be able to break down the door that simply."

The woman knight growled at these words, and before Tiffania could stop her, she had leapt forward and slammed her feet against the granary door. There was no thud, or cry or pain, only a resounding _crack,_ as the well-made door was reduced to splinters, letting the light of the outside world stream into the darkness of the building.

Inside, Tiffania saw a man standing shakily with a farming hoe in front of several other people. In the group were two women, a boy on the verge of manhood and another boy around Maria's age, all quite different in appearance save that they all had wide, fear-filled eyes as the lady Archer strode into the room with grace of a sword in the moonlight, her boots crunching against the ground.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then the stillness was broken as the man yelled and ran at Archer with his hoe held high.

The result... was about what one would expect when a mundane human attacked a heroic spirit. The girl who Maria called the princess of the moon gracefully sidestepped the clumsy assault and swept her assailant's feet from under him, sending the man sprawling to the floor in an ungainly heap-and notably without the hoe, which she spun once in her hands as she faced the rest of the little band.

As the women in the room shook, the older of the two boys stood up to shield the women against the icy one's approach. It would have been a rather touching sight, had the horrors of the night before not already transpired, and the attempts at defense not reminded Tiffania of her own failures.

"I'm going to take a week's provisions for my travelling party," the Counter Guardian said softly, though to the other survivors, it might as well have been a thunderclap. Tiffania had the strangest feeling that Miss Archer was feeling bad about this whole affair on the inside, but there was little they could do if they wanted to survive, especially with little Maria in tow. "It would be best if you left as well, for as soon as night falls, the black beasts will be back."

"B-but that's not..."

"Possible?" Archer asked, her voice cutting like a knife. "It will happen as surely as the sunset, for those creatures need to feed. Doors, walls, mundane defenses - none of these will stop them."

"No…" One of the women started tearing up, "No, no, no… they already destroyed everything we have, why would they come back…?"

An uneasy silence hung in the air.

"Because they're demons," Tiffania whispered, causing everyone in the room to turn to her. But she was unused to the attention, and just blushed and looked away.

"Demons…" The older boy muttered in fear, "I thought those were just bedtime tales me marm would tell to scare me into doin' good." He scratched the back of his head and said, "I guess I can't disagree with the evidence though."

Tiffania nodded and walked over to the older man, who was still dazed from his fall, though otherwise uninjured. He looked like a regular farmer, except that he was older than the norm, with graying hair and wrinkled skin—perhaps in his fifties.

"Ach, you… you aren't a commoner, you're a fighter," the man muttered, looking up at the woman with hair like snow. "Tell you what… you take all that you can, but you take us with you, eh?"

Tiffania blinked, feeling quite conflicted. On one hand, she would love to be able to help more people to atone for her failure; on the other, she had secrets to keep, and she was certain Miss Archer had some of her own, things she did not want to share. Maybe the formidable fighter of the group would just make the decision and take it out of her hands?

"I would like to, but that depends on the young miss here," the lady Archer noted, waved at Tiffania, much to the half-elf's horror. She... she didn't want to decide these people's fates! She didn't have the right... and more people would make it harder for the bow user's ability to protect them all. On the other hand, if she didn't let them go with her... they would all die, and their blood would be on her hands.

"I..." she began, before trailing off, unable to continue. Seeing that no one else spoke up though, she gathered her courage and tried again. "I-it would be best if you joined us." So she managed to get out in a rush, but qualified her statement. "But we only have one cart, and it's a small one too…"

At her agreement, the old farmer sighed, "Ah, don't worry about it, lass. I've a mule hidden back over in the back, in case we ran out of food, and a cart for the grain. My name's Jeremiah and this here's my family: my daughters Anya and Dorothea," the two women gave a curtsy, "and my grandsons Gino and Lloyd. Now where are you lasses from, anyhow?"

"We're from a small town on the south side of Saxe-Gotha," Tiffania replied, thinking that neither the mysterious lady Archer nor Maria would really know where they were.

"Ah! No… That's… Then that means these…_ demons_… cover a good portion of southern Albion!" The man cried out, his body shuddering in instinctive revulsion. "Now...you say they are demons, but what are demons exactly?"

"We're not sure, but we know they can't be hurt with simple weapons," Miss Archer cut in brusquely, noting that the sun was quickly sinking in the sky. "We don't have much daylight left, so are you going to keep asking questions until the sun sets, or are you going to pack up and go with us? From everything we've seen on the road, these beasts attack places where large numbers of humans gather, seeing them as prey. Towns, cities, villages...I've seen many of these reduced to dust and echoes. If you stay here, make you peace, for you have no chance to survive."

"You...you've faced their ilk before?" The man asked sharply, watching as his family dragged a mule and a small wagon out from the back of the granary. He nodded to them and they started tossing bags of dried food and grains onto the cart, loading up what they could.

"Yes, and every time the land burns in the wake of their coming," the red-mantled lady knight intoned, sounding so certain that no one dared cross her. "We need to get on the road, since that way we'll have an easier time avoiding them than being trapped in a town."

"Aye, I get that," Jeremiah muttered, shaking his head. "Alright then, we'll leave as soon as we can."

* * *

><p>Despite the delays, the now expanded group managed to make some headway in the few hours before dusk arrived and the sun started setting. Due to the slow pace of the carts, they had not travelled quite as far as Miss Archer wanted, or found a place that was off the road and suitable for defense-perhaps on a hill so that she would have the best vantage point around, but the Counter Guardian was confident enough in her own skills to tell the group to make camp. A fire and a warm meal would go a long way towards improving the small refugee column's morale, and that was probably the most important thing to keep up when one was on the run.<p>

The others didn't argue, not after having had their fill of the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh was heir to in recent days. Besides, their stomachs were growling, and there was only so long one could deny the needs of the body.

Dinner that night wasn't especially appetizing, as other than a few edible plants Tiffania had managed to find along the road, there was little to go along with the hard bread, dried fruit, and half-stale cheeses that defined typical travel fare. Still, there was enough to make a kind of soup out of salt pork and wild greens, and while it wasn't the tastiest thing the travelers had ever had, they dug into the dish with relish regardless, since hot soup was quite filling on a chill night.

Aside from meal preparation though, the women, Anya and Dorothea, kept to themselves most of the time.

Tiffania couldn't blame them. Considering they both had children, they had probably both had husbands…husbands devoured by the ravening beasts. The other children seemed as strong as little Maria, trying their best to help their mothers to cope, and so they got along nicely. The sight of Maria and the two boys huddled together whispering actually lifted the half-elf's spirits a bit, as happy children had always brought a smile to her face.

The one in charge of the family was Jeremiah, and apparently, it was he who had ensured their survival before the fateful encounter at the granary, as Miss Archer discovered when she approached him that night, asking some questions as the group huddled around the camp fire during dinner.

"So why did you choose to follow us, Jeremiah?" Miss Archer asked. Her voice was pleasant enough, but Tiffania had an inkling that the older woman was somewhat suspicious, questioning the farmer's motives.

"Heh... well, honestly? You don't dress like a commoner like us, see?" Jeremiah pointed out, gesturing at the lady Archer as an example. "I mean, a red mantle? Black and silver armor? Tassels? Those are marks of someone who's up there in nobility, I'm guessing. And since you answer to the little miss over there, then that means she's even higher up in that mage hierarchy of yours, right?"

Which was technically true, since Tiffania was the late daughter of the Grand Duke of Albion, and by formal rank, second only to Crown Prince Wales with the death of the late king, though she had never mentioned this fact to anyone who didn't already know.

Miss Archer blinked twice, enough time for Tiffania to cut in.

"I-I'm not a noble," the half-elf denied, wiggled in her seat, uncomfortable with the attention, and certainly with the observations that struck too close to home for comfort. "And neither is Miss Archer."

The old farmer simply shrugged, "Whatever you say then. We're simple folk - we don't actually care about the long story involved. All I know is that this 'Miss Archer' dresses like a noble, and she answers to you, so..."

Any retort Tiffania could have made to that was cut off by a lone howl. It sounded vaguely like a wolf, but Tiffania knew better. Indeed, everyone in the camp knew better, dropping what they were holding in shock.

_It was too late after all._

The monsters had found them.

They were going to die.

Maria curled into a ball.

Gino grabbed her and huddled together with his younger cousin as if to shield the little girl from danger.

The women each held a rake or some other improvised implement of impalement, mirroring Jeremiah as he grabbed his farming tool.

Everything happened in a flash, so quickly that the terrified Tiffania could not understand what was going on. All she could understand was a simple command, honed by millennia of ancestral memory on what to do when confronted by death.

**RUN.**

RUN AWAY.

RUN AWAY NOW!

But she didn't run, her legs shivering, her muscles too soft to move. Flashes of memory from the previous night assaulted her, reminding her of how futile running was, holding her down as she shivered on the muddy ground, thinking that she was about to die.

Then, warmth filled her as a hand touched her shoulder reassuringly. Tiffania looked up, only to see the woman called Archer nod grimly at her, a gleaming white shortsword in her other hand.

Seconds later, darkness was upon them.

As opposed to the previous night, where the demons had come in the form of individual monsters, beasts of varied shapes and sizes, this time they rushed in as one great tide of shadow.

Like a frenzied horse driven beyond its limits, an unseen wind of plague shrieked about the camp, slowly eating away the light. Pandemonium, wailing, and stench of carnage filled the air. There was no place to run, no hope of escape. Those who were mourned would never return...the hands of time could not be turned back.

**_Give in..._**

So the shadows seemed to whisper in the minds of those present, as hungry, guttural growls echoed from one end of the camp to the other, drowned out all but the whimpering of the children to Tiffania's ears. She wanted to help, but there was little she could do… except entrust their safety to Miss Archer.

Miss Archer—why was she called Archer anyway?—ducked and wove around the shadows. Her sword...no, two swords - black and white, danced in the gleam of the crimson moon, her form rendered almost ethereal by the strobing flickers of the campfire.

Unlike the previous night, the demonic tide was far more vicious in its onslaught, not only trying to those present, but to crush the carts, rend the mules, tear apart the very earth and leave it stained with tar. The mules were frightened, not used to the brutality they now faced, and bolted, as the shadows had cut loose their reins. But the moment the mules left the camp and crossed the invisible border between fire and night, they were swallowed by the darkness.

The foe was a sea of perpetual blackness, a terrible, indescribable thing vaster than any house or dragon. They were shapeless congeries of a thousand eyes and a thousand maws, all eager for a taste of flesh. Living darkness corrosive to the touch, it bore down as tendrils of its might lashing out and slithering over a now smooth floor that it had swept so clean of any life.

In the face of this, Tiffania could not steel herself any further, and so her body to acted on its own, breaking into a run-but not to escape, to protect. Her eyes were shut by the time she grew conscious of her actions, and her arms were tied tightly around Maria. Both the little girl in her arms and herself were shivering, with cold sweat covering them.

Opposing the shadow was a red-mantled gust of wind, as Archer defended with a burning spirit, her crimson eyes allowing no retreat, only advance, as she struck without pause, without hesitation. A frenetic clash occurred, red against black, shadow and flame dueling for the right to exist, sucking in everything around them, so that anything approaching would be cut to pieces.

It didn't last long, only an instant really, but to Tiffania, it seemed to take an eternity.

Still, when it ended, the sounds of the beasts had fallen silent. Then the half-elf opened her eyes, finding that around the camp in a crude circle was a moat of blood and shadowy forms that defied categorization, dissolving into black tar and fading from existence as if they'd never been in the first place. In the very center of the remains of battle stood the woman called Archer, panting slightly with a few drops of sweat on her brow... and a deeper stain of red along an edge of her mantle.

While the farmer's family all muttered and glazed upon Miss Archer with awe, Tiffania felt her heart jump at the sight of blood.

'She's hurt! She was hurt... protecting me.'

After making sure Maria was fine, Tiffania broke her embrace and ran to Miss Archer, but the familiar only looked at her with a strained smile.

"I'm alright," the snow-haired woman muttered to Tiffania as she sheathed her swords, though it didn't sound convincing to the half-elf. Still, she would not force Miss Archer to admit to anything she didn't want to - right now, it was important to be strong. And besides, perhaps Miss Archer was a Water Mage and could heal herself?

"More importantly, there are no more chaos beasts in the immediate area."

The half-elf was about to concede the point when her sensitive ears picked up a disturbance somewhere in the distance: yowls of pain, mingled with snarls of rage and terrified screams.

_Did the demons find another band of travellers?_

"Miss Archer...do you think...?" Tiffania began, but stopped, almost cursing herself. She, who was helpless, had no right to ask someone who had been hurt because of her to go out into that darkness...

"Do you want me to investigate, Tiffania?" the Counter Guardian inquired quietly, looking intently at the one who had summoned her.

"I-I..."

"You entrusted your fate to my bow, asking for my protection," the lady Archer replied with a soft smile, bringing a free hand to the half-elf's cheek. "If there is anyone who could beg a boon of me...it is you."

"Would you...?" the shy half-elf murmured shyly.

"Your wish is my command," the snow-haired woman quipped wryly, inclining her head and vanishing from sight.

* * *

><p>After the bow user left to investigate, Tiffania found herself looking into the distance from whence the odd sounds had come, waiting as time passed by with agonizing slowness. She repeated the lady knight's reassurances that the beasts were gone to those who asked, and simply said that Miss Archer had gone to make sure the area was safe. Surely, the other would be back quickly, right? Each moment without the woman's reassuring presence was like a small eternity.<p>

Fortunately, in the Guardian's absence, old Jeremiah had stoked the fire again, and the others had gathered around it as if seeking some reassurance from the crackling flames. In a weathered, heavy tone, he began to tell stories from the holy book of the Church, speaking of how the Founder Brimir had once beaten back the tide of darkness, of how he had changed the world, bringing magic into existence, creating nobles that humanity might be protected from the terrors of the Age of Chaos. He spoke of how Brimir had brought the light of God into the shadowed lands, how the wild earth had been tamed...and of how mankind had endured, long after the elves' treacherous betrayal of the Brimir...of how the will of God would protect them from evil, for had it not brought the trio of travelers to their door? The kind maiden who had allowed them to join her, the woman knight who had protected them from the demon beasts, and the little girl they watched over.

...though frankly, such talk made Tiffania rather nervous, as she wondered how they would react if they found out she was part-elf.

Would they run in fear as so many had? Would they hate her and try to hurt her? Would their blood be on her hands as well?

She didn't know.

Before Tiffania could give the matter much thought, however, those gathered at the camp were rudely interrupted, as the air seemed to shimmer at the edge of the clearing, and in silence five cloaked figures made their presence known. They were human, from what she could tell... but that didn't mean much, especially not when it came to magic using knights, so much like the ones that had haunted her nightmares as a child.

Slowly, they approached, and in the flickering firelight, she could pick out that only the two in the front were mages (wearing armor and robes), while three in back were merely swordsmen wearing hauberks of mail. Soldiers of the crown? Or worse... mercenaries?

How long had they been there, watching? With wind magic's ability to conceal sight and smell and sound, it was hard to be certain, but she gathered that they had probably been there long enough to see that there was no one present who might oppose them, for they certainly hadn't been there when the Demon Beasts were roving.

Still... she couldn't just turn them away, because if she did, _what if they died_?

While she wrestled with herself, not knowing what to do, Jeremiah the orange farmer intervened.

"Hello there," he called out, in the same gruff voice he had used to address the trio. "What can I do for you folks?"

The words were said with forced calm, and Tiffania realized that the farmer was just like her, forcing himself to be strong for the rest of his family.

"Eh, we heard some sounds of wild animals around here," one of the mages replied smoothly, almost too smoothly, an odd expression on his face which she found familiar... and disturbing. Something out of half-remembered memories told Tiffania that she should run, that she should grab Maria and flee as fast as her legs cold carry her, though it was nowhere near as strong as the impulses from before, and the half-elf thought it might just be echoes of what she had felt when the demons were present. "My group and I, the White Wing Mercenary Group, thought you might be interested in a little... protection."

"Ah..." Jeremiah replied nervously, fearing the worst, yet knowing that it was futile-perhaps even deadly-to oppose the whims of a mage. "Well you can see, it was just some wolves who were frightened off easily enough. So thank you for your kindness, but your help isn't needed."

He hoped, desperately, that they truly didn't intend harm, that their offer had been genuine...

"Yes, I can see that…as you all seem...quite healthy," the mage replied, stroking his goatee, a dark smile on his face as his eyes roamed over each of those present. "But since we went to the trouble of coming to help, some compensation seems to be in order…"

"Bu-what?" Jeremiah sputtered, outraged at this blatant attempt at extortion. "Sir, we're just refugees from the monster attacks! We have barely anything other than the clothes on our backs!"

"Clothes, eh?" The mage smirked, an expression mirrored on the faces of his companions, most of which started openly leering at Tiffania, the farmer's daughters, and even...little Maria. Seeing this, Tiffania shivered, the memories of her mother's death and the burning of Saxe-Gotha coming back in full force now, as she remembered the wanton brutality of nobles and soldiers. "Well then, I'm sure you can pay us in some _other_way…"

"You… you sick…" Before the old farmer could get another word out, one of the soldiers who had come up from behind the mages threw a knife, catching the farmer in the hollow of his throat. Jeremiah froze as the blade tore through cartilage, severing the windpipe, the esophagus, and plunging through his spine, his breaths gurgling as he pitched forward.

"Ah, ah, ah, I'm tired of hearing your voice already, old man," the soldier who killed him laughed, a twisted rictus of pleasure on his face as if death was something he'd long gotten used to. "I'd rather hear these ladies…_scream_."

"Jeremiah!" Tiffania rushed to the farmer's side, trying to see if there was anything she could do-but there wasn't. Anger and hot pain filled her as she looked at the fallen body. She might not have felt comfortable around the man, but all he wanted was to keep his family safe! What did he do to deserve this? "Why…" She asked, looking up at the mercenaries with her eyes moist. "Why are you doing this?"

"Oh, ho…a feisty one, eh?" The other mage grinned, leering at the half-elf's generous bosom. "We need to teach you a lesson it seems. Commoners—no, refugee scum—shouldn't talk to their betters this way!"

With a dull crack of flesh against flesh, the man reached across and slapped Tiffania with such force, throwing her against the ground, forcefully enough that it dislodged Tiffania's hood, revealing her ears.

The mercenaries' eyes all widened as they took a step back, "…Elf!"

It was one of the few, exceedingly rare moments that Tiffania was happy for her heritage, but that moment was fleeting, as the frightened looks on the refugee-hunting mercenaries quickly warped into expressions of sadistic glee.

"Heh, heh...I've never had an elf before…" The lead mage laughed. "This will be quite a conquest for humanity, eh boys?"

As the mercenaries chorused a raucous yes and moved towards the stricken half-elf, wands and swords at the ready in case she resisted, out of the corner of her eyes, Tiffania noticed a blur of movement.

...and then everyone in the clearing froze as a massive killing intent, colder and more lethal than anything the shadow had manifested, slammed against their minds, robbing them of their ability to move. Fear flooded them, fear beyond anything they had ever felt or imagined possible, and in the face of a power far greater than their own, they _knew_the end was nigh.

**_RUN!_**their bodies cried, but they could not.

There was no time to run. There was no time to think. There was no time to breathe.

In the stillness, the woman known only as Archer appeared from nothingness, her swords out once more as she moved towards the paralyzed group of mercenaries with a slow, inexorable advance that promised only destruction. An eerie glow was in her eyes, a fury as chilling and implacable as the winter itself, as if the moon princess of legends had come to pass judgment on those who had sinned.

"When I became what I am now," the Counter Guardian intoned quietly, her face absolutely expressionless. "I swore an oath that I would only kill monsters."

Swords... materializing from nowhere.

Swords... of liquid light and congealed darkness.

Swords... thrumming with powers demonic and divine.

Swords floated about the Counter Guardian's lithe form, their shapes shifting and changing, glowing with mystic energy as the Archer approached those who had dared to kill innocents. There was no smile on her face, no grin, no expression of any sort except a blankness that inspired utter fear.

"Right now, in front of me," Archer continued in a near whisper, her terrible eyes alighting on the faces of her foes, freezing them in place, helpless before her wrath, "I see five monsters."

_Five lives judged... and found wanting.  
>Five whispers of steel through air.<br>Five bodies shredded into nothingness by a thousand whirring blades._

Screams - cut short by death rattles, leaving the night silent once more.

* * *

><p><strong>Evil chaos beasts say: review please!<br>**


	3. Who the Hell do You Think We Are

**The Third Magic**

_Due to the length of this chapter, and on AlfheimWanderer's urging, I decided to cut this chapter into two chapters. So please excuse the shortness of this chapter, thank you._

_I-I-I h-hope you l-like it, I mean, I-i-i-i-it's n-n-not like I want y-you to r-r-read this or a-anything... go ch-choke on it and d-d-d-die! A-AlfheimWander is credit to the t-team!_

* * *

><p>Among the Heroic Spirits, there was one who stood head and shoulders above the others in terms of raw strength. This was Heracles, son of Zeus, whose name was synonymous with power, against whom no mortal could long endure. Indeed, in the legends of his deeds, only the gods had been able to play the part of a lasting antagonist, as all others had been felled by mere fraction of his might. In terms of divine mystery and age, he was nigh unrivalled, and were it not for the constraints of the Servant system and the berserker craze that had robbed of his sanity during the Holy Grail War, leaving only a shard of himself behind, he would have been unmatched.<p>

(Except by Gilgamesh, but then almost everything was an exception where the King of Heroes was concerned).

Still, his strength was why he had been chosen as the Einzbern Servant, from the many heroes of legends in his native world, and why he had been called to this place. And it showed in his upkeep, as to be his Master in this most dangerous game of death, one needed to have ridiculously high amounts of prana.

But now, in the fullness of his power, Heracles faced a trial unlike anything he had ever known.

For all his divine might and legendary cunning, he stood fearful before his task, a daunting charge that had claimed the souls of many lesser men and women.

Against this final obstacle, the world's strongest hero stood alone …

…as Illyasviel mumbled incoherently before snuggling even closer up against Louise.

'_The little pink thing and the Master need to wake for class, but do I do so?'_ Heracles wondered. Of all the dangerous feats he had undertaken, this one was far and above the worst, given the conditions, what was expected of him, and how little he had had to use. Perhaps he would even need to give one of his twelve lives, his last resort, in order to wake them. Even after all the children he'd reared in his time, he had no idea how to wake them both and come out unscathed.

'_Ah, too late,'_ he thought as his eyes wandered to the snoozing faces, so rosy and content. Sometime during the night, Illyasviel had kicked off the covers and the two girls wearing identical, translucent negligees had turned to each other for warmth. Now that he made his mistake of looking directly down at the two girls, Heracles felt his willpower drain as he became paralyzed by the adorable sight. _'Too...what is the word? Cute.'_

After a few minutes passed, Heracles shook his head, snapping himself out of his daze. '_I must be strong, for the little Lady!_' His trembling hands crawled to the girls from one side of the bed, fearing that in his rapture, he might accidentally harm one of his wards. So, as gently as he could (which was surprisingly so, given his size!), Heracles used his forefingers to tap the soft cheeks of the girls, a task that was made rather difficult, as his fingers were twice as thick as either girl's thighs.

"Munyuua," both girls groaned, almost like an echo, as both raised a hand to lazily slap away the offending appendage.

"…Little Lady, Pinkie," Heracles whispered distraughtly, trying to restrain his voice so it would seem he was roaring. "It's time to wake up."

This time, Heracles poked against the petite girls' shoulders. His soft thrust only prompted the girls to roll away from his finger.

"Uwagha," the girls mumble in unison, once again shrugging off his attempts to rouse them from their slumber.

Clearly, this was going to be more difficult than he thought.

Still, Heracles was not one of the greatest heroes of legend for nothing, and upon realizing that mere poking would not work, the leaden giant switched tactics.

He tried nudging the girls, but his titanic strength caused to girls to roll across the bed. Panicking, Heracles raced to the other side of the bed to stop them from falling off the bed. But as Louise reached the edge, she just bounced off him and started rolling the other way.

With the speed only a Heroic Spirit was capable of, Heracles passed through the bed to materialize on the other side, managing to stop Illyasviel from falling off the bed. Alas, the snow fairy did not wake. All his hard work only resulted in a change from Illyasviel spooning and grinding against Louise in her sleep to Louise spooning and groping Illyasviel in her sleep.

Puzzled, Heracles scratched his head, trying to recall how the maids had woken the little Lady, during the days of the Holy Grail War? Ah, yes, the Sella-Maid either rolled Illyasviel out of bed or tossed cold water on the little Lady's face.

That wouldn't do.

'_Oh, that's right!'_ Heracles bumped his fist to his palm in realization. The Leysritt-Maid had once suggested tickling the little Lady awake! '_Now, how do I do that when they are the size of my hands…?'_

Heracles scratched his head again.

He carefully plucked two feathers from pillows the girls snoozed on and tickled their noses. This seemed to have an effect on the girls, but rather than waking up, the girls went into even deeper sleep.

As one, both girls dragged the covers over their heads, mumbling, "Munya, munya, munya."

Heracles scratched his head again.

This time, he went to the girl's exposed feet. It was truly cruel, what he was about to do to the two little Ladies, but his duty demanded it. He took the feathers and tickled the girl's rosy soles.

At first, the tiny feet shifted and moved, trying to escape Heracles' ruthless tickling. However, the two girls were mere mortals and could not measure up to the Heroic Spirit's awesome tickling ability (Rank B). After five minutes of combat against the Tickle, the two pairs of tiny feet shrank into the safety of the covers, leaving Heracles alone once more.

Heracles frowned and scratched his head again.

Heracles sighed, and tried to pry to covers from the tiny hands, save that the girls clutched it so hard, the gentle giant's restrained pulls were not enough!

"Master," he rumbled softly, "It's time for school…"

It seemed the girls were not going to make this easy for him. That's fine, Heracles realized, he was always up for a challenge. This time, he pulled harder…

...Way too hard!

The covers flew out of bed, flipping the girls into the air, before they plopped back down onto the bed. Heracles stared incredulously.

_Perhaps the little Ladies are playing with me? How are they still asleep after all that?_

Truly it was a great puzzle for the ages.

"Master," he rumbled again, this time a little louder…

...Way too loud!

Both girls' heads shot up, smashing into Heracles' forehead! But while the adamantine giant had God Hand to protect him from such jolts, the two girls were rather less fortunate.

"Mugyuuu…" Both girls cried, with tears welling up in their eyes as they rubbed their bruised foreheads... and then promptly collapsed back onto the bed, snoring.

Heracles stared before muttering to himself, "…Cold water it is then, but the little Lady would scold me. And maybe even hit me." Sighing, he knew he had no other choice.

Heracles dug his fingers under the girls and gently lifted them out of the bed. In a single movement, he scooped up a girl in each hand and plopped them down next to each on the side of the bed, in sitting positions. The girls froze for just a second before falling back onto the fluffy covers below them.

"Pogiya…"

"I apologize for this ahead of time, my Master," Heracles muttered as he rifled through the little pink thing's closet. He then undressed the girls delicately, taking care to slip the negligees off of the girls without disturbing them too much as they squirmed and snuggle together. Luckily Heracles' hands were swift as lightning and got the silky transparent white clothing off of the girls before they realized what was going on.

In the next few minutes, Heracles took his time to dress each of the girls. By the time he was done, they were in the pink thing's student uniforms, and still cuddled up against each other.

Heracles sighed again.

"I'm sorry for this, my Master…but it seems I have no choice. Noble Phantasm: _Hundred Tickling Hands!" _Heracles' hands sped up as he tickled the girls a hundred times simultaneously. The effect was devastating; both girls were completely defenseless against the onslaught of the Heroic Spirit's mighty power.

"Wuah! Hahaha!" Illyasviel yelped and jumped up just too far and hit her head on the side of the bedpost, falling off the bed. Louise was not as strong as her familiar and was left a wiggling mass of pink giggling blob by the end of Heracles' labors.

"Ow!" Illyasviel moaned, clutching her doubly wounded head.

Louise wiped the tears and dust from her eyes and blinked. "You, you're…" She paused as her mind finally booted. "Ah, that's right, I summoned you yesterday!" She said before frowning. "And how did I get dressed…?"

"Oh good morning, Archer!" Illyasviel called cheerfully from the ground where she was still clutching her head, "and good morning to you too, Louise!"

"I told you, call me Master—" Louise said with her eyes closed in annoyance, before managing to collect herself and looking up-only to see the hulking form of Archer. "Eep!"

"It's time for class, little Ladies," Heracles spoke in a voice that sounded more like a growl than anyone was comfortable with. "Further, you have a guest at the door, though she has been there for a few minutes, Pink Supervisor." With that, Heracles reverted to his spirit form, only keeping his link to Illyasviel's mind open.

"Well then," Illyasviel said to the somewhat speechless Louise, "I would say it is good manners to greet your guest, right Master?"

"…Manners, right…" Louise mumbled. Where...where had the colossus in her room gone? It had been there only a second ago, right? ...or was she seeing things again? "Ugh..." All the pinkette wanted to go back to bed and dream of fluffy manticores, and now she was being denied even that.

_'It's too early in the morning for this…!'_

* * *

><p>In all her years, Kirche the Ardent had never hurt anybody, or at least, had never hurt anyone deliberately. So the jilted lovers of some of her flings had become jealous that they hadn't been able to control their men's urges - why blame her for such things? So some men had tried to force themselves upon her despite her insistence otherwise, and so she had to ward them off with flames - how was that her fault?<p>

After all, Kirche only wanted to have fun.

In Germania, she had been bored with the stifling attitudes of her peers, and after a number of incidents involving a little too much passion and excitement, culminating in her expulsion from the Vindobona Magical Academy, she had moved to Tristan to enjoy herself. There, she was only an ignorant foreigner, able to get away with things the professors back at her previous school would never have allowed her to.

But in the end, Kirche would never purposely hurt anyone.

When she first met the third daughter of the Vallière family, Kirche had thought it was another moment for amusement. Never mind that their families have been feuding for generations, surely this Vallière girl would like to join her? They both stood so far from the crowd, so different from their peers, that neither would be able to fit in if they wanted to. But when she approached the girl, she was touchy and sensitive and naïve unlike any other girl Kirche had met. Oh, sure, she was politics savvy enough to know when to do what in a formal setting, but it was as if this Vallière girl had grown up inside a cave like a hermit, as if there was an impossibly large shadow that protected her from all things worldly. Of course, after she had started teasing the Vallière girl, Kirche remember who the pinkette's father was and thought she understood, since the high nobility was often a little sheltered from the realities of the world.

So, Kirche reasoned, it fell to her to help Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière get out of her shell with good natured ribbing, so that she'd be used to what the world had in store for her.

She never meant to hurt anyone! Really, she hadn't!

For Kirche was a kind girl, a girl who gave her love freely to those who wished it, even if her passion burned a little hotter than most were comfortable with. And while she never intentionally hurt others, sometimes, people were hurt nonetheless by her actions and words. People like the poor Vallière girl, who expected nothing but abuse, and interpreted everything in life through jade-colored lenses of despair and desolation, so no matter what Kirche tried, the third daughter of the Vallière family saw it as mockery and bitter torment.

Regardless, Kirche had since developed a sort of ritual with the Vallière girl, one of the fellow social exiles of campus. After all, in trading insults, they had a sort of companionship of rivals, so that neither was quite as lonely in the Academy as they otherwise might be, since aside from Louise, Kirche had but one friend - Tabitha.

Nevertheless, things hadn't gone as planned, and so Kirche genuinely felt bad about it. She thought she'd been doing Louise a favor, but her teasing was lost in the sea of jeers from the rest of their peers, a wealth of derision and scorn that had emotionally scarred the poor pinkette.

By the time she realized this, it had been too late to approach the Vallière girl and make amends, but at least they both had a consistency in their lives that both could appreciate.

Now, however...Kirche had a reason to approach the Vallière girl and try to befriend her once again. Kirche understood that even as confident and proud as she was on the outside, she was just as afraid of hurt as anyone else. But now that Ilya was here, she had a good reason to do something other than tease the Vallière girl.

So here she was, standing in front of the pinkette's door early in the morning, wondering what to do...what to even say. For the first time in years, the redhead was _nervous_, wondering what the other's reaction would be to her unannounced visit. Ah, to feel such emotions of uncertainty once again, to not know how a situation would turn out even before it began...it was glorious!

She Kirche was shaken out of her reverie by what sounded like rolling thunder, though she realized after a moment that it wasn't thunder at all, but a voice. A smooth, masculine bass that was richer and more resonant than any other Kirche had heard before.

Had the changes wrought by Ilya caused Louise to take a lover? Perhaps...an older man?

_'But who? ...it couldn't be...Professor Colbert? Don't tell me..._THAT's_ how she's passing her classes?'_

Curiosity and the whiff of a possible scandal drew Kirche's interest as she leaned closer, pressing her her ear against the wooden door of the Vallière girl's dormitory room as she strained to hear what was going on inside.

"…-greet your guest, right, _Master_?" But…that was Illyasviel? Was the snow-haired girl in there as well?

'_Is this what Tristanains call…a ménage a trois?'_

She hadn't thought Louise had a kinky bone in her body, but it seemed appearances were deceiving, and perhaps she and the pinkette had more in common than she thought.

"…Manners, right…" Louise muttered grumpily, sounding like she didn't want to be up.

'My, my, they must have worn her out last night—'

But her thought was interrupted by the sound of Louise's distinctive stomping, prompting the Germanian to pull hastily away from the door, straightening herself as it opened.

Peering inside, Kirche looked past Louise to see if her lover was present, yet the only other there was an impeccably dressed Illyasviel sitting gracefully on the bed, with a haggard Louise as if she hadn't slept at all. Indeed, the strawberry blonde was drawn and pale, with a tired look in her eyes that suggested she was only a hairbreadth away from snapping.

'She just defenestrated him then? Wouldn't have expected that…'

"So Louise…," Kirche began, pushing open the door and giving the room a closer inspection, only to find the same results as her earlier more cursory survey. "…where's your _friend_?"

"What are you talking about, Kirche?" Louise grumbled. It was far too early in the morning to deal with Kirche's mind-games (not that there was ever a good time of day to deal with those), and right now, she wanted food in her stomach and possibly a hot bath.

The redhead took that as her cue to smirk and saunter over to Louise, draping an arm around the other girl's shoulders and leaning in conspiratorially.

"Come on, you can tell me," she whispered into Louise's ear, a gleam in her eyes. "I heard a guy's voice in here. So who's the lucky man, eh? And where are you hiding him?"

One could almost follow Louise's train of thought as she first stiffened at Kirche's touch, struggling to pull away—then freezing as the question came in. One, two, three seconds of utter silence passed as the query was processed, and then…

"Wha-wha-what? What are you talking about, you pervert?" the pinkette shouted, loud enough for people on another floor to hear her through insulation, stone and wood, with any traces of fatigue in her thin frame vanishing, replaced by near incandescent anger and embarrassed outrage. "I'M NOT LIKE YOU!"

Kirche winced at the sudden onslaught of sound, oddly thinking that if one could weaponize Louise's anger, it would make for quite a powerful explosion.

'_Maybe its not such a good idea to be close to Louise when she gets flustered…'_

"You must have imagined it, Miss Zerbst," Illyasviel piped up airily from her comfortable position on the bed, as the pinkette squirmed free of the redhead's hold and backed away, glaring daggers at the Germanian.

"Yeah, knowing this hussy, she was probably fantasizing about something naughty like she usually does," Louise muttered darkly, not really caring if Kirche heard or not. "Just like she was probably doing last night, imagining the vile acts that they would do with her body…"

Kirche twitched.

She had tried to be nice, to approach the girl as she would a friend of sorts. And now Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, the Zero herself, had had the gall to throw that kindness in her face.

"You must be talking about yourself, Zero, because I never need to fantasize," she shot back, stung. "I have men waiting on my beck and call, should my whims ever change! For I am the Kirche the Ardent! The ardent of gently smoking passion who men are drawn to like moths to a flame…!"

"Zerbst—you!" Louise growled, anger piqued.

"Come, _Master, w_hy don't we go to breakfast?" Illyasviel interjected, a trace of amusement on her delicate lips. Looking over at her, Kirche couldn't be certain, but she thought perhaps the girl was hungry? After all, such a tiny body could burn quite a lot of energy during the night in certain activities…

"That's a wonderful idea, Ilya," Kirche replied, smoothly, thinking she'd get more information out of her fellow Germanian than the stubbornly prudish Louise, who apparently clung to her principles in public, even though Kirche had nearly caught her _in flagrante delicto_. "Why, we could even pick up Tabitha on the way!"

"Ah—" Louise fumed, wanting to continue to rant at the unwanted intruder in her bedroom, but given pause by her familiar undercutting her authority. She never been forced into a situation like this, and well, it was rude to decline an invitation so…

But her choice as made for her, as while she was silently debating what to do, Kirche came up and grabbed one of her hands, dragging the unwilling strawberry blonde towards the door.

"Come!" the redhead intoned with great vigor and amusement. "Tabitha awaits!"

"Already here," a soft voice announced from behind Kirche, causing everyone present to freeze momentarily, eyes glancing towards the hallway to see the diminutive blunette was already there.

Noting the…anomalous presence of her friend, Kirche turned her head around slowly to get a good look at her.

"Tabitha! I thought you were reading."

"Am," the blue head confirmed as she pulled out a thick tome and buried her face inside it – something about atmospheric dynamics and the mechanics of turbulence that most would find impenetrable. Kirche smirked, shaking her head at the thought that Tabitha had probably followed her all the way to Louise's room without her so much as a sound.

But then, the ice mage was quite good at what she did.

"Let's go then, Master," Illyasviel quipped, skipping ahead of Kirche and pulling a faintly grumbling Louise behind her, her silvery-white hair nearly shimmering in the morning light. For some reason, the sight reminded Kirche of an old myth in her homeland her grandparents would tell her, when she was just a child.

The story of the Winter Saint…

Kon!

"Ow, what was that for, Tabitha?" Kirche moaned, rubbing the place on her head that Tabitha had "gently tapped" with her staff. "That hurt!"

"Spacing out," Tabitha replied in her usual monotone, pointing ahead at the rapidly fading forms of Illyasviel and Louise, with the latter squawking and protesting about Kirche and her breasts.

'Hey, its not my fault I was born beautiful!'

"Right, don't want to lose those two now, do we?" Kirche asked as she stalked after the duo like a tigress in pursuit of prey, her long legs allowing her to close the distance rather quickly...and to pounce as she got close, wrapping Illya in her arms from behind.

"M-Miss Zerbst?" Ilya questioned, looking over at Kirche with a suddenly flushed face, her breath hot against the Germanian's neck. To Kirche, it was like looking at a docile Louise, with the little one tamed at last by the warmth of her flames, so vulnerable and willing, entirely at her mercy. She didn't even try to pry Kirche's fingers from her chest and inner thighs, squirming slightly, but only with a show of token resistance.

"Ah, ah, ah," Kirche chided, smirking down at the white haired girl, "You aren't getting away from me _that_ easily. Though I suppose if you tried, I could be per-"

_BOOM!_

A minor explosion erupted, with Kirche and Illya flung apart by the force of the blast. Groggily, Kirche looked over towards Louise to see that the pinkette was ranting, waving her wand in a rather threatening manner.

"...and no molesting my familiar, Zerbst!" Louise shouted, stalking the redhead with her wand ready to cast another explosion...only for the other to decide that discretion was the better part of valor, taking the chance to flee. "You...get back here so I can punish you!"

"Oho, so you're into _that_ kind of thing, is it? How bold, Vallière!" Kirche called over her shoulder, the sound of her shoes against stone echoing behind her as her form receded into the distance. "I didn't know you were into other women..."

All of Louise's skin flushed as red as Kirche's hair as the comment registered, and she belatedly began to give chase, with explosions rocking the castle as she cast haphazardly.

_'Yes,' _Kirche thought. 'W_ith Ilya here, things will be much more fun.'_

Thoughts of girl as dangerous or at all like the Winter Saint, were by now long out of mind.

* * *

><p>Louise huffed. Louise puffed.<p>

Louise dragged away Illyasviel from the dining hall as soon as they finished eating, still incensed over what had happened earlier and how the snow-haired girl hadn't fought back at all. In fact, the familiar almost seemed to _enjoy_ it.

_'No...just no. The familiar is supposed to reflect the master, and I'm not a sick pervert like Kirche...'_

"Why are you so friendly with that-that-that...That!" Louise asked, jabbing a finger violently towards Kirche, who for her part, merely waved cheerfully from a dining room table. The Germanian had beaten her to the great hall, and even Louise in the fullness of her wrath knew better than to disturb a teacher's lunch, lest she be sent to do some utterly humiliating labor like muck out the stables or tend the familiars like a common servant.

"What's wrong with her?" Illyasviel replied, a finger on her lips as she recalled the incident of the morning. "She seems pretty friendly and…warm."

Louise frowned at her familiar, an inkling of suspicion and horror trickling into her mind. Something was not right here.

"You don't...happen to _like_ Kirche...do you?"

_'Please say no. Please, just say no...'_

But the answer she desired was not quickly forthcoming.

"Well…" Illyasviel said slowly, looking down as she suddenly found the tiles on the ground very interesting. Holding her hands behind her back, she half-heartedly nudged at a loose tile with her foot. fingers twiddling as she thought back to how soft Kirche was against her. Hugging the Germanian had been rather different from hugging Heracles or Louise...it was almost like molesting the maid. "She isn't bad, I suppose. I…it's all a matter of what one appreciates, right?"

Given these words, Louise just stared at her familiar, unsure what to think of the foreign mage. On one hand, the pinkette was all but certain that the earth elemental that the snow-haired girl had somehow bound to her service was hiding somewhere nearby, a sign that this little snow-haired girl was a powerful mage.

On the other...her...preferences left something to be desired, to put it lightly.

"W...well," Louise broached awkwardly. "I-If you are really lone—"

But the dere moment was ruined, as the snowy-haired girl chose that moment to skip down the hall towards the main classrooms

"You, familiar! Pay attention while I'm talking!" she snapped, chasing after her and hoping the familiar would just stop, though as usual, Illya did nothing so predictable.

"Oh? Are you mad, _Master_?" Illyasviel giggled, in her sing-song voice, dodging under an angry swipe of Louise's wand and hooking an arm around Louise's waist, her other hand taking hold of Louise's wand arm so it almost seemed they were dancing. "There's no reason to be angry..."

Louise felt conflicted at this situation, unsure what she was supposed to fear. She couldn't punish the familiar as she liked because she feared her, but underneath all of that, the pinkette was the one who had summoned and bound the snowy-haired girl, right? So why wasn't she cooperative? Why didn't she listen and obey, as familiars were supposed to, instead of humiliating her...

… the last time someone hugged her so closely like this, hooking each other's arms in such a friendly fashion, was when Louise was home with big sister Cattleya…

"Don't be so familiar with me, Ilya-I-mean-familiar!" Louise said, wrenching herself free of the other girl, as thoughts of her older sister quickly shifted to those of her mother again, and how Karin the Heavy Wind would...not react favorably if she found that one of her daughters could not do something so simple as control her familiar. Yes, even if her familiar was seemingly stronger than her, since summoning the girl meant that she had to have more power in the end, right? "But… but I will allow you to stay close to me. For your protection, of course."

The last part was added purely for Louise to keep some shred of dignity, the veneer that the familiar was not in fact an existence that surpassed her in power and social interaction.

"For my protection...sure, Miss Vallière," Illyasviel giggled, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. Still, she let Louise have a bit of distance as she walked side by side with the pinkette, their similar sizes allow their paces to match. "So what is this next class you are heading to, Master?"

"_We_ are going to the practical water magic course," Louise shot back, grabbing the snowy-haired girl's arm and pulling her in the right direction as she said so. "But you're going to have to sit in the back of the class; familiars are not allowed to participate…"

"Really, but that's boring…" Illyasviel groaned, disappointed, though interested to learn what she could of the magic system here. Louise sympathized with her familiar; what use was magic if one did not get to use it? Then Illya tilted her head, as if considering something. "But if you're in this class, does that mean you are good at water element magic, Master? After all, according to what you said about the summoning, you would have been sorted into classes depending on your ability, right?"

Louise grimaced, choosing to ignore the question (something of a sore point for her, since she was the only one _not_ sorted into an elemental specialty yet due to her...inability to use magic). "I… Ah, we're here," she said hurriedly, dragging Illyasviel into the back of the classroom as they walked in. It was still early in the morning and students were still filing in. Many of them were chatting with their friends, so Louise's more subdued entrance was largely ignored.

All the more so, as she didn't talk to Illyasviel as she took out her ink bottles and papers, almost hoping her familiar would stop asking about her magic and leave her sore point alone. She knew her familiar would find out soon anyway, but if Louise could delay that moment for even a little while, then she would. For she wondered, would Illyasviel leave her like everyone else when her spells blew up in her face?

"_M-a-s-t-e-r,"_ Illyasviel whispered huskily into Louise's ear, shaking Louise out of her thoughts abruptly. Lost in her reverie, she hadn't notice how close Illyasviel had crept, till the homunculus sat beside her. "You didn't answer my question…"

Louise held still, thinking that maybe if she didn't say or do anything, the familiar would go away. After all, that was how one escaped the attention of a dangerous beast, right?

...sadly, such a rule did not work for humans.

_"Oh, Maste-"_

"I'm… I'm not good at any of the elements, alright?" Louise whispered back harshly, at last, breaking under the continued deluge of questions. "I've tried all four elements: earth, fire, wind, water, and nothing works for me...!"

"Earth, fire, wind and water?" Illyasviel repeated, looked at Louise with a puzzled look. "But during the ritual, didn't you invoke the ritual of the five elemental powers? Unless there's some mysterious fifth element that you've all forgotten about, in which case, this place a little backwards, isn't it?"

"Ba-ba-backwards?" Louise exclaimed incredulously, drawing more attention than she would have liked. She saw the classmates glancing at her, so she lowered her voice to a hiss. "There's nothing wrong with the magic here, if anything your magic is the one that's strange…!"

"Oho?" Illyasviel murmured, smirking. "Still, I've never heard of a magic that uses four elements…"

"Well...yes, there are five," Louise muttered reluctantly, "and yes, one has been lost to us, but that's because the Void was a divine power handed down by God to the Founder."

"A divine power?" Ilya questioned, lips shaping the words absently. "Well, I doubt that, since in almost every magic I know of, the fifth element is usable just like the others. Why, in my homeland, I know someone who could use all five elements."

"All five?" Louise gasped, looking around to see if anyone had noticed the nature of their conversation. Fortunately, it was her outburst they heeded, not Illya's words. "There's no way. No, don't even repeat that again, do you understand, Illyasviel?" She said this seriously, given how she knew the Church would be...unhappy with her if she was to spread such rumors. "What you just said...that's heresy. No one since the Founder Brimir has been able to use the lost element of the Void."

"Really?" Illyasviel noted archly, raising an eyebrow. "Well, if you say so, Master…"

Louise huffed at this diffident reply.

Really, why couldn't she just have gotten a dragon or a griffon or a manticore? Even a cat would have been fine too!

"A-hem!" A raspy cough interrupted her thoughts as an odd man who she thought might be the professor shambled to the front of the classroom and up onto the podium. "If I can have your attention and have some silence in the classroom, please? Thank you."

He broke down, coughing for a long minute before continuing, with most of the class looking at him in concern as he caught his breath. He was an old man, walking shakily with the aid of his walking stick. His face was gaunt and thin, as if he had been starved his entire life. His grey hair slicked back and an unshaven beard grew from all over his face.

"Right then," the professor said, as he caught his breath. "You call can address me as Professor Styx. I use ah…" He coughed again, "Ack...water magic and my runic name is ah…the Ghastly River. Thus, I am Styx the Ghastly River." He paused, taking a rag from his pocket and coughing into it again, with violent wheezes producing phlegm and bloody sputum. For a terrifying moment, Louise thought the professor was going to die in front of her, or at the very least, collapse, but it passed and the man managed to right himself, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I will be instructing you in…" He looked down at the podium, then apparently seeing nothing, up to the blackboard behind him, on which an introduction was written. "...the practical applications of water magic today. Right then…"

The man proceeded to extract a long, thin wand from within robes made of some fabric so dark they seemed to drink in light. While most were of wood, this one was unusual in that it had been fashioned of white bone, with an odd red hue to it that unsettled Louise with the mere sight of it. Louise saw her familiar frown at the professor when he pulled out his wand, but stayed silent, not wanting to admit to her discomfort. Professor Styx then pulled out a glass of water from under the podium and placed it so that the whole class could see it.

"Water magic, as you know, has a variety of uses. Like any other element, it can be used in combat, or to control the mind, but it best known for its other uses," Professor Styx's intoned in a deep, rasping voice that sounded like bones grinding against stone. "Chief among these are…ah… healing magic and potions, the first of which you will be practicing today. Though, you must understand that should healing magic be used incorrectly, dire consequences might occur."

To Louise, listening to the professor drone on was like listening to bones being grounded into powder. The way that he swayed on podium, looking every bit a frail, old man who was on death's door had Louise questioning if this professor was really a healer. But then the professor pulled out a cage filled with rabbits, and as age-old wisdom went, cute things were excellent at distracting the attention of young people.

Some of the female students cooed when they saw the little, fluffy critters scurrying around in the cage, as some of the males wondered what would be done with them.

For her part, Louise blushed, unable to help but let off a soft squeal at the sight of the fluffy critters.

"Now, then, we shall demonstrate healing magic…" The professor pulled out one of the rabbits, and then slashed its throat open with a jeweled dagger, blood spraying from the wounded creature as it thrashed about, only to be held down the professor. A few of the students shrieked at the sight of blood, with most looking a little faint, or as if they were about to throw up.

"Ah, now let's see," the professor rambled, seeing that he had the students' undivided attention. "The incantations are simple, most of you should be able to do it with just them minimal effort. Most wounds can be healed with a nearby water source-or if the wound is simple and shallow enough, simply the incantation as most living things are primarily water." Noting this, the professor waved his bone wand and muttered the incantation on the blackboard. Water rose from the glass he set in front of the class and glowed briefly as it settled onto the rabbit, sealing the wound.

"Alright, let's see if there's a volunteer for this…" the deathly man intoned, scanning the room for those that looked most uneasy. "Ah, Miss Vallière, you should do nicely." Having never had the Vallière girl as a student before, he didn't know of the catastrophic outcomes that usually resulted from her attempts at casting...

"Ah, that might not be such a good idea, Professor," Montmorency the Fragrance piped up nervously from the other end of the classroom. Unlike Louise, she had been placed in this class because of her talent with water magic, and she knew full well what a failed healing spell could do.

"And why is that?" Professor Styx asked with a smile like the grinning rictus of a skull.

One of the other students in the class cut in. He was a rather plumper lad, but sounded like the other students in his obnoxious tone, "Because that's Louise the Zero for you, Professor. Every spell she casts blows up in her face!"

"S-shut up!" Louise shouted, leaping out of her chair, wand already in her hand. "At least I'm not the Common Cloud, or was it the Cutting Cheese, Malicorne?"

"Good one, Master!" Illyasviel whispered from behind Louise, giving her summoner a thumbs-up and a wink. Louise smirked inwardly, she had all the reason she need to perform this spell, if only to wipe that idiotic smirk off of Malicorne's face.

"Zero, that only happened once in class!"

The fat boy, Malicorne, yelled back.

Professor Styx laughed, a rasping, almost malevolent sound like the grinding of old gears and twisting metal echoing in the room as he held up his hands, "Now, now, children, we are all here to learn; there is no need to argue. So why don't you come up here Miss Vallière, and show us what you're capable of?"

"Of course, professor," Louise replied, using a similar tone to that Malicorne had used.

"Now then, I will cut the rabbit and you shall begin chanting the moment I make the cut, alright, Miss Vallière?" At her nod, Professor Styx reached into the cage and grabbed a fresh rabbit. It was a white one with pale pink eyes, and looked very adorable to Louise.

She could not help but wince when the professor slashed his dagger across this rabbit's throat, but didn't hesitate, didn't hold back, for the pinkette knew that she was racing for its survival. So she gathered as much willpower as she could, chanted the spell as the professor had demonstrated.

All the while, the professor stood back with a strange smile on his face, as if life or death did not bother him at all. It was curious, Louise's mind noted, but she did not care what the professor thought. The important thing was to accomplish magic here, to save the poor rabbit!

At first, it seemed like she was actually going to get this spell right. Sure, the water that streamed from the glass to the rabbit's throat looked as if it was glowing, with a thousand tiny bubbles exploding inside it, but it still went from the glass to the rabbit.

That was then, in her moment of hope, that her spell failed, along with her spirits, for hope was the best spice to bring out despair.

The water in the glass destabilized, erupting into a cloud of superheated steam that covered the front of the classroom, spreading over the first few rows of the class as students began to scream in agony as scalding droplets seared their delicate noble flesh.

A wand was waved-the professor's-and the stream cleared, settling to the ground as merely boiling water, revealing the sight of a mostly unharmed Louise, who was anxiously looking at the rabbit, hoping it was alright.

To the shock of the students present, the rabbit was twitching as if it were lively again. Louise wanted to cheer at her success, shout that despite what had seemed like failure, she had managed to cast a spell, but...

_'Wait… that doesn't look right_…'

To her horror, she realized that the rabbit's mouth was foaming with bloody bubbles. Its eyes were wide and bloodshot and bulging from its body, so that Louise could even see the whites of its eyes. Pustules of blood and some black liquid leaked from open sores around all over its body, with the rabbit's mouth opening and an unearthly shriek issuing forth it.

Then, its eyes melted from its skull.

"Ekk!" One of her female classmates shrieked in horror.

Louise couldn't blame her. If she had not been so frozen with horror at what she had just done to the poor animal, she would have screamed too.

Then the rabbit twitched upwards again, sitting on its hind legs with its face silently roaring at the sky. Its tiny forelimbs thrashed wildly at some invisible foe as more blood dripped out of its mouth, mixing with bile, urine and other foul-smelling liquids.

A last death rattle gurgled mouth before the fluffy rodent exploded, covering Louise in bits of bloody fur and bone.

The class was silent for only a moment before it exploded into general pandemonium.

From the front of the classroom, Professor Styx droned on, unaffected by how gloriously wrong the spell had gone.

"As you can see," he intoned, pausing to cough. "When healing spells are cast...incorrectly, they twist their… victims… into something quite alike to an abomination." He coughed again into his wrinkled hands, his face twisting into an ugly frown as he showed visible pain in his poor health.

All the while, almost the whole class was frantically shouting up a storm, taunts and jeers flying at Louise like spitballs. Kirche and Tabitha looked on silently, unsure how to approach the quietly trembling girl at the center of the room still dripping in rabbit guts. From the corner of her eyes, Louise saw that even her familiar did not approach her. The snow haired girl had sat back, looking on with mild interest in her eyes and _nothing else, _much like the professor. There was no pity, no sympathy, to be found, only cold, clinical observation.

Louise bit back a cry. She failed again, like… like always...

And this time, something else had paid the price.

"Observe how twisted the rabbit is now, class, for the sake of your studies! Why, this is precisely why one should cast healing spells with care," the professor was explaining, with no discomfort from the death, only his own condition. "Should one lose control of the water element, their patients may be twisted into things inhuman and unnatural." Here, the professor paused to allow himself a dry cackle that in itself seemed twisted and deranged. "Are you alright, Miss Vallière? Here, let me clean you up…"

Before Louise could reply, the professor used her as an example to demonstrate another useful ability of water magic: rapid cleaning. In a simple wave of his wand, the sticky, red goo that covered Louise all plopped onto the granite floor, leaving her relatively dry.

The stench of blood and death still clung to her clothes and skin, but to Louise, it reminded her of Mother, with the crowd jeering at her like that at the execution of some criminal, condemning her to a fate worse than death: to live, knowing she was a failure.

There were nothing more to be said.

She ran.

Salty droplets threatened to spill from her eyes, but Louise would not allow her classmates the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

The door slammed behind her with a resounding _clang!_ as many eyes watched as she disappeared.

"Well," the professor said after a moment, scratching his chin, where his unkempt beard grew, and sighed, "I suppose that concludes today's demonstration. Will one of you please make sure Miss Vallière is alright? I understand that there are many who cannot handle the pain of failed healing spells…"

* * *

><p>Siesta sighed as she diligently did the laundry of the various nobles, her hands expertly scrubbing and wringing clothes free of stains and dirt. The last two days had thrown quite a lot of confusion into her quaint little life. She had come to the Tristan Academy of Magic to earn money for her family, but…<p>

_'...these last two days have been very strange._'

Siesta sighed again, pausing in mid-scrub.

She had thought getting out of the castle and doing some mindless labor would help her keep her mind off of things, but no matter what, her treacherous imagination would keep betraying her, replaying the moment when Miss-no, Mistress Einzbern had come to her, doing things that she had only thought would happen in novels.

At the thought of the small white-haired girl with crimson eyes, Siesta felt her cheeks warm with color. As a mere commoner she had come to tolerate—well, become resigned to—the sad fact of life that no matter what she did, she would always be under the thrall of the nobles. She had come to expect rowdy, young boys from the Academy come to her and try to abuse her against her will, only held back by their social position and the fact that she usually took care to stay out of their way. She had expected the leering eyes of some of the faculty as they passed by, watching her nubile body as she worked.

But even with such a harsh place to work, Siesta managed to endure, both from the knowledge that the Academy paid better than most other jobs someone of her age could find elsewhere, and because of the tattered scraps of hope she held onto. As a child, she'd dreamed that maybe one day, the prince of some faraway land would come and sweep her off her feet, that maybe she'd become princess and live in a castle...not clean up after those that did. She'd never thought it would be a _princess_ who would come and… and…

Siesta held her heated face in her palms, trying to rid her mind of such scandalous thoughts. But it was too late; torrid images of her Mistress and herself in a loving embrace in a scented bath of roses, attended to by Miss Vallière assaulted Siesta. Steam seemed to come out of her ears before she violently shook her head and went back to washing the laundry with redoubled efforts, trying to ward away her dirty thoughts.

It didn't exactly help when Siesta saw the lithe form of the strawberry-haired Miss Vallière approach her, after the things the pinkette and the snow-haired girl had done to her in her wild imagination. This was reality, she told herself, not a hazy pleasure dream. She needed the distraction.

Really, anything to get her mind off such naughty thoughts would be appreciated!

As Miss Vallière drew closer, Siesta's thoughts turned from internal to external as she heard the girl sniffle and hiccup, seeming to hold back sobs. Buried maternal instincts quickly rose to the forefront as she thought of her younger siblings back home, and how they had looked much like Miss Vallière when something terrible happened.

"Miss Vallière?" Siesta asked slowly as she dropped her workload and walked to the girl who flopped down on the grassy side of the courtyard and held her knees against her chest. "Miss Vallière, are you alright?"

The pinkette looked up from the ground, a stray bit of snot daggling as she tried and failed at holding in her tears. "W-why would you care, you stupid maid! You probably just want to be harassed by my familiar."

Siesta frowned, the clear thoughts of cheering up Miss Vallière slowly evaporating from her mind as she remembered the other's haughty attitude. Still, she was better than the blonde Montmorency, and when one was hurt, one was hurt. So Siesta had to forced herself to hold back; after all she was just a commoner… and while Miss Vallière might have been a little too accurate in her assumptions, her random statement hitting a little too close to home.

"Miss Vallière," Siesta replied, with the barest sound of gritting her teeth. Was there a vein throbbing on her head? "I might not be a noble, but I am… not unintelligent. Something is bothering you, and in my experience talking about it usually helps."

"What-what would you know about problems?" Louise shouted hysterically, on the verge of tears. "You live the comfortable life of a commoner! You don't have a care in the world, whereas I have to face the constant pressure of magic and dealing with greater problems. You don't know how good you commoners have it with your simple life…!"

Siesta tried to keep a smile on her face, despite the younger girl's hostility, or, failing that, a neutral expression, but something about the way Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière had spoken struck a chord.

Good? She thought that the life of a commoner was _simple_? Easy?

"How _good_ I have it, Miss Vallière? You don't know me, or any commoner, so you have no idea how difficult our lives really are, mostly because of you nobles," an icy voice said in reply, one that Siesta recognized belatedly was her own. "Who takes the food we grow? Who tramples over our villages every time there's a war without caring who dies, or whose land gets destroyed? Who slaves to keep you and your ilk in the manner you are so accustomed to, while you bully us as if we were dirt under your feet? Do you know how hard our lives are? How many of us die because we can't afford your medicines, while you nobles live lives of wealth and pleasure, caring not at all about us?"

"Pleasure and indolence?" Louise snapped, fire burning in her eyes now that she'd found some target for her emotions. "And who builds your houses? Who protects you from the elements and from the dreaded elves? Who works the spirits and makes it rain when people want it? Who is it that fights and keeps this country in order?"

Many questions, each louder and angrier than the last, as memories of her mother and father flashed into her mind, the two having risked their lives on countless battlefields. She remembered Eleanor, her oldest sister, who was a researcher at another Academy, and Cattleya, who knew more about animals and taking care of familiars than anyone-even while afflicted with something even magic couldn't cure. These stresses, these burdens of the powerful, the obligation to shelter the commoners and protect them from the storms that might come...how could a commoner understand that?

"I… I might not have experienced what you have, Miss Vallière," Siesta conceded again, even as the jealous, angry voice in her mind told her otherwise.

When had nobles ever protected them? When had nobles ever won against elves or helped a harvest? And when they fought, whose lives did they trample over?

She so selfishly wanted to slap the girl across the face and just tell her off. But that would only end up with her being fired, or worse. "I may not have done those things, but here I am here working from dawn to after dusk for days without end simply to support my family. Do you think _you_ could work such tasks like me, or any commoner, and work like us, Miss Vallière? With the way you and the other live in your dorms and expect us to clean up after you."

There was a cold fire in her voice that Siesta kept tightly controlled. She did not want to bite the girl's head off, but the noble girl's view of who had the harder lives was so skewed that Siesta could not help but be angry. To think that she dared claim that magic made lives harder, when they were nearly worshipped by some because of it!

"Wha—commoner's tasks? You overstep your bounds!" Louise sputtered, whipping out her wand as she jumped up in outrage, jabbing it towards the maid's face.

Rather than flinch away, Siesta just stood there, crossing her arms and holding her shoulders high. She felt… superior. Perhaps it was because Miss Vallière looked like a little girl, or perhaps it was because she was tired from a day's work and frustrated with her thoughts, but Siesta felt like she could stand up to this little noble.

"I work twelve hours a day to provide for my family, a family that is overtaxed by local nobles who grow fat on our labor. But here I am, _serving_ nobles because if I don't, then my family will be forced to move or be thrown into debt prison… _by nobles_. You nobles have the right to abuse and even murder, to use your powers of magic however you like, and you say _I_ have it good?" Siesta did not shout. She whispered harshly, mercilessly, her voice like unyielding ice. "Do you know how many times your fellow classmates have tried to use their power and money to make me do… things… with them? Do you know how I have to fear when I wake up in the morning, that maybe I'll be violated by nightfall? Do you even know what it's like to endure this but have no other choice because if you don't, people you care about will starve? Do you?"

Louise harrumphed and mirrored Siesta, crossing her arms and standing toe to toe with the maid. Still, she refused to actually use her wand against someone without magic. She was better than using violence against someone defenseless, and for now, still had her self-control at the very least. Her mother would be...unhappy...with her otherwise.

"You think that's bad? Try being raised with the expectations of nobility when you can't carry the burden. Try to live as a failure that has never done anything right in her life, in whose hands everything breaks, everything crumbles! Try being around your peers only to be teased by them day in and day out, just because you had no magic, and you're as helpless as a commoner! Try being me, I dare you!"

Whatever Siesta had been about to say died on her lips. _That_ had not been what she'd expected to hear from a scion of the nobility...

"N-no magic?" the maid repeated slowly, incredulously, staring at the pinkette in shock and surprise. What she said was impossible, wasn't it? All nobles had magic...it was what defined them as such. "I-I… I thought…"

"You thought..._what_?" Louise's eyes in anger, a brittle edge seeping into her voice. If this maid mocked her, she would...she would...

What she would have done became a moot point, as suddenly, thin arms wrapped themselves around Louise's shoulders, causing the girl to jump, looking back to see that Illyasviel von Einzbern had laid her head on her shoulder.

"I-Ilya?" Both Louise and Siesta called out in surprise.

"Mm...well then, Miss Louise," Illyasviel grinned as her hands roamed, causing Louise's face to redden in embarrassment and shame. "If you were jealous of Siesta, you could have just told me…"

"J-Jealous?" Louise stammered, looking away from the snow-haired girl. "I-I-I'm not jealous at all!"

Illyasviel let the pinkette go, seeing that the tension that had built up between the mage and the maid had dissipated. She walked between the girls and said, "It looks like both of your problems stem from not being able to use magecraft. I think I can help with that."

"R-really?" Louise quickly forgot about Siesta, as she focused solely on the snow-haired girl eyes shining with an illogical, wild hope...that she might be able to use magic… correctly.

Siesta, on the other hand, looked dubious and unsure. While she could have wild fantasies, to allow herself to entertain such impossible hopes like learning magic would only open herself to despair in the end. It was impossible for a commoner to become a mage, wasn't it? And there were many nobles famous for the sadistic games that they played with commoners like herself after all…

"But… Hmm…" Illyasviel raised a finger to her chin in thought, "What would I want in return…?"

"A-anything!" Louise burst out, "Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. I'll do anything to use magic!"

At Louise's sudden declaration, Illyasviel frowned at the pinkette.

"But Master, you can already perform magecraft."

"T-those explosions doesn't count! I…" Louise pouted, peering peering at Siesta and hesitated for half a moment, before she continued, "I want to use magic that doesn't blow up in my face!"

She colored, embarrassed to have to admit this.

_'Or cause everything around me to die...'_

Siesta couldn't help it. She covered her lips with her hands, but she started giggling.

"W-what's so funny, commoner?"

"You… You are so adorable, Miss Vallière." Siesta gasped for breath. She wiped a tear from her eyes, a soft smile on her face. "You keep such a rough and harsh facade, but inside you're so delicate..."

"S-so what?" Louise asked, puffing up like a fugu, looking almost as if she was about to explode. "Y-you're just the same! You're so docile when Ilya gets her hands on you, but you… you overstep a commoner's position every other time as if begging to be abused!"

Siesta's cheeks grew rosy at the mention of Mistress von Einzbern. The snow princess was just something different from all other nobles…

"Ah…" Siesta sighed. She could not really stay mad at anyone for long, not when they just don't know her experiences. It wasn't as if Miss Vallière meant her harm, after all. "I apologize for overstepping my position, Miss Vallière."

Louise stopped and nodded. She was satisfied with that; she could not punish this commoner anyway, since she was not her servant. "See that you don't do it again, commoner."

"Ah, I know!" Illyasviel cried happily, "I'll teach you both my alchemy, and Siesta will be my maid!"

"And what of me, familiar?" Louise asked with brow raised. Nothing came for free in noble circles, and she wondered what boon the girl would ask of her...and if she would be able to pay it. "Are you going to ask a price of me too?"

Illyasviel giggled, "Of course! You'll pay Siesta's wages!"

"W-why should I do that? Why would I want a maid anyway?" Louise sputtered again, perplexed by the nature of the request.

With the Vallière family as powerful as it was, Illyasviel von Einzbern could ask for much - land, wealth, power, and more. And with the snow fairy's obvious magical might, she could do almost anything she wanted...but only desired a maid?

It...it made no sense.

Illyasviel inched closer to Louise. As she pressed her lips close to Louise's ear, she whispered, "Would you rather have _Archer_ as your maid, M-a-s-t-e-r?"

Louise paled, her eyes widened at the thought of the colossus in a frilly pink apron trying to sweep her room or clean anything. "N-no, I-I think Siesta will be a great maid…" She stuttered out. She reminded herself that Illyasviel was an accomplished mage, if only to be able to control such a giant spirit and keep it bound to her.

The earth elemental even moved with her! She was sure of it.

"Great!" Illyasviel clapped and smiled. "Now apologize to each other and make up!"

"A-apologize to a commoner? I think not." Louise shook her head, stamping her foot cutely. "I have… my pride as a noble, Illyasviel."

Illyasviel frowned, pouting as she brought a finger to her lips.

"Oh? But didn't you just say that nobles were supposed to be mages?" she said pointedly. "Besides, from what I saw, you were just as wrong as Siesta. So apologize. It wasn't a request."

Before Louise could reply, appalled by the gall of the familiar, Siesta bowed, taking the initiative took initiative. "I apologize, Miss Vallière. You made good points that the life of a noble is not an easy one, but I hope you take my views into consideration as well."

Louise stared at the maid, and then glanced over at Illyasviel. She looked back at the maid again, and pouted. "I-I suppose commoners don't have a simple life. But! That doesn't mean I'm apologizing! I'm going to my room, familiar!"

With that, the pinkette scurried away, notably less upset than before, though still fuming that she had been made to apologize to a mere commoner.

Illyasviel watched as Louise left the courtyard before turning to Siesta.

"Well, you are truly mine now, Siesta," she murmured sweetly, giving the maid a dangerous smile. "Do tell your employer, alright?"

Siesta nodded mutely, unsure of how to approach the situation. But she was not given the chance, as the snow-haired girl pulled her down and kissed her hungrily, holding the kiss for several long seconds before pulling away.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Siesta," the girl nearly purred, before sauntering off, leaving Siesta alone with her laundry, cheeks flushed, body swaying from the passion of the connection of bodies.

Siesta looked down at the dirty clothes and then looked up at where Illyasviel had been but a moment before, still feeling the warmth of the younger girl in her arms, the way the stray hand had felt as it pinched her butt. Then she raised two fingers to her lips and blushed. _I will go see the Head Servant first thing tomorrow_, she mused at last as butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

* * *

><p>The Einzbern homunculus watched her summoner run away with weary eyes, deigning not to follow, as the pinkette was probably just headed back to her room, and there were no dangers she needed protection from. For her part, Illya had no intention of returning to the room or following her summoner around like a lovesick puppy.<p>

Things weren't fun that way, and besides, there was just so much else to do in this castle…

The former vessel of the Grail skipped along the stone tiles, moving through the courtyard and making impossible leaps with the aid of her invisible Heroic Spirit. She climbed, hopped, and otherwise made her way to the top of the one of the many towers of the castle. With a flick of her hands and a burst of prana, she stood on the edge of the walls, barely balanced on the stone rampart with one foot in front of the other.

"The wind feels nice up here, Archer," Illyasviel murmured to her Servant. Her eyes were closed and her mind racing with dozens of thoughts that went nothere. "It is cool and smooth… and almost no one is watching us now."

"_There is still the constant feeling of being magically observed,"_ Heracles pointed out. "_With one of the observers being the quiet blue-haired girl."_

"But we are isolated enough to chat, before my poor _Master _starts getting upset again anyway," Illyasviel countered, sighing as she shook her head. "Look...Heracles...I… I haven't told you…"

Heracles remained silent, but attentive to his master's needs. She was clearly troubled, and with his instinct, he suspected it had something to do with him, so he listened.

"I… I'm sorry, Heracles…" Tears streamed down Illyasviel's face, something she was unfamiliar with. Crying was not something she often did, after all. "Wha… what are these…?" She whispered, her hands rising to her cheeks and catching the warm streaks running down her face. Logically, she did not think she should be crying, or that her body would act without her knowledge.

As a creation of magic, did she not have complete control over her body? Was not the rune atop her forehead supposed to allow her complete grasp of magic? Or… was it only something false, like everything else in her life, a lie that was not truly magic…?

"It's my fault both of us died...against Gilgamesh," she whispered hoarsely, as pent-up emotions came at last to the surface. "My fault...with me worthless as always. I guess that's why Kiritsugu didn't want me, why Onii-chan didn't, why no one did except to use me. Because in the end, I'm nothing but a failure."

"L_ittle Lady, do not apologize to me,_" Heracles' voice was harsh as ever, but there was an uncomfortable tone to it, a side of him that Illyasviel never expected to hear. He sounded almost regretful. "_It was not your fault, but mine. I was to be your Servant, to whom you entrusted your fate...and yet I proved inadequate in face of the King of Heroes._"

"No!" Illyasviel cried, shaking her head vehemently. "No, Ber-Archer. You're strong...it's not your fault we died. It was mine...if I hadn't forced you to go mad, if you'd had your Noble Phantasm..."

"_Little Lady…_"

"Like everything else...it's all my fault!" Once the words started streaming, they did not stop, a river of babbling fit to clean out the darkest heart. Illyasviel could not hold it back anymore, the tidal wave of emotion she had repressed for so long to live as magus, a tool, a vessel.

Why? Why was it coming now? Why only after she has already died?

"I-If I had been a better Master, if… if…"

"_If's will solve nothing, little Lady, I…_"

"That changes nothing, Heracles!" Illyasviel shrieked. She could feel her Heroic Spirit next to her, so ready to comfort her. She could almost feel the rock hard chest of Heracles just ready for her to pound against and drown her emotions against. These emotions… they were _human_… and she should be better than that.

For she had stopped being human years ago.

"_Illyasviel von Einzbern!_" Heracles thundered, catching her attention, as there was little else he could do for his Master. He would not allow his companion, someone he had come to care for so much, wallow in pity and pain. _"Who I am?"_

"A-Archer?"

"_Yes, I am Archer._ _I am Heracles, Son of Zeus, one of the strongest of the Heroic Spirits...and it was I who failed against Gilgamesh,"_ he rumbled softly, still invisible, still watching. _ "I may have been a Berserker at the time, but even so, I should have been strong enough for your trust. The fault was not yours, you who were made to call me as a maddened wraith because of your family. The fault was mine, for not meeting your expectations. You...Illya...you have always been strong."_

His words were tinged with a bit of pride, a warm emotion, fed into Illyasviel's mind through their intimate connection.

"Me...no, I've never been..." Illya denied, shaking her head despite the legendary hero's reassurances. "I was even summoned to be the match of a supposedly talentless mage. Shouldn't that say something about me?"

_"What it says, little Lady, is that you are too focused on the past,"_ the son of Zeus intoned, inaudibly save to his Master. _"On the failures that might occur in life, and not the futures that might come. Illyasviel von Einzbern, do you know why people have eyes in the front?_"

"Why...?"

_"It is because they have to keep moving forward to see what is in the distance," _Heracles noted, his voice seemingly far away. "_If you_ _just look back, all you will see is everything you've ever known fading away, losing before you gain. In this world, you have the chance for something new, so don't yield, don't retreat, don't look back. Don't be distracted by what-ifs, should-haves, and if-onlys. There is only the now and the future to come - that is the truth of the universe."_

As he spoke, Illya's sniffles were dying down as she listened.

"But I..."

_"You above all others are strong, mi'lady,"_ the Heroic Spirit rumbled in his Master's mind. _"You summoned me when no one else could have - once before the Grail gave you power, and once from another world without its might. You walked beside me in that forest, withstanding great pain every time I moved. You bravely faced the end and the rigors of this brave new world. You are strong, Illya, let no one tell you otherwise."_

A brittle smile.

"I...I don't know if I can believe that," Illya replied, shaking her head ruefully. "For a long time, I sat back and let you do everything. I didn't know what to do but follow what others told me. And now that I have a choice...I..."

_"Then Illya, if can't believe in yourself, don't," _Heracles intoned, the faintest hint of warmth in his voice. _"Believe in me. Believe that I believe. Believe in the Heracles who believes in you."_

He fell silent then, but Illyasviel could feel his emotions as he fed on her own, a bond between them that transcends the simple Master and Servant bond, something _deeper._

"...you're strong, Berserker," she said at last, echoing the first words she had said to him long ago.

"_Of course, Master_," came the amused rumble of the adamantine giant. "_...who the hell do you think I am?_"

The strains of soft laughter filled the air where there had once been tears, as a Servant and his Master resolved to take tomorrow's path in their own hands, letting the dreams they left behind open the door in this brave new world.

* * *

><p><strong>Welcome to The Second Magic O-make Corner!<strong>

"All things are possible, in all realities, so here's a peak at what's out there!"

"In one universe, a Zelretch taught an Archer, causing him to access powers of the Second Magic! In another universe, a Zelretch thought of an Archer as his favorite source of amusement! But there are even universes where an Archer thinks of a Zelretch as his favorite disciple! And of course, even a universe out there that a Zelretch is an Archer's _favorite grandson!"_

"That's right! Now you're thinking with Zelretch, my student!"

"Fight-o! Here's a scene that you would not have expected to be seen—"

"—But the lazy author didn't even bother to edit it!"

"That's because the author never expected to show that to anyone, silly Taiga!"

"…Is that why my dialogue is so poorly written?"

"Ha! You're always poorly written!"

Badan!

"Owww…"

"Anyway! Enjoy viewing into the kaleidoscope!"

* * *

><p>"Really?" Illyasviel smirked. "If you say so, Master…"<p>

Louise huffed. Why couldn't she just have gotten a dragon or a griffon or a manticore? A cat would have been fine too!

"A-hem!" A professor walked into the front of the class room and up onto the podium. "If I can have your attention and have some silence in the classroom, please? Thank you." The professor said without pause.

"Right then," the professor coughed into his hand before continuing. He was an old man, and dressed conservatively in two overlaying black robes that somehow had a dignifying presence to it even when he walked in on a gnarled walking stick. His gray hair slicked back and an unshaven beard grew from all over his face. "You call can address me as Professor Schweinorg. I use ah… water magic and my runic name is ah… Multicolored Glass, so I am Schweinorg of the Multicolored Glass. I will be teaching you on…" He looked down at the podium. Then the old professor looked up behind him at the black board, which had an introduction to the class written on it. "…I'll be teaching you healing magic today. Right then…"

He took out a long, thin wand, one that was so unusual because it was made out of some kind of white crystal rather than the normal wooden components. It had any refracting lights running through it that the crystal wand looked very much like a kaleidoscope to Louise. Louise saw her familiar frown at the professor when he pulled out his wand, but stay otherwise silent. Professor Schweinorg then pulled out a glass of water from under the podium and placed it so that the whole class could see it.

"Water magic, though it could be used offensively," Professor Schweinorg's tone transformed into a low drone almost immediately after he started his lecture, "could also be used defensively. One of the most prized ways this type of… ah… magic… could be used is to heal. That is what you will be practicing today. Though, you must understand that should healing magic be used incorrectly, dire consequences might occur."

Then the professor pulled out a cage filled with rabbits. Some of the female students cooed when they saw the little, fluffy critters scurrying around in the cage, but the class was otherwise unresponsive.

"Now, then, we shall demonstrate healing magic…" The professor pulled out one of the rabbits, and then slashed it with a jeweled dagger. A small pool of blood formed under the rabbit, but it was held down by the professor. A few of the students shrieked and most looked a little faint. Louise colored, but that was mainly because she shrieked when she saw the blood.

"Let's see, the incantations are simple, most of you should be able to do it with just them minimal effort. In this case, it is only a surface wound, so with a nearby water source, it should be easy, like so," the professor waved his crystal wand and muttered the incantation on the blackboard. Water rose from the glass he set in front of the class and glowed briefly as it set onto the rabbit, stopping the wound.

"Alright, let's see if there's a volunteer for this… Ah, Miss Vallière, you seem very able," the professor said, with a strange smirk on his face.

"Ah, that might not be such a good idea, Professor," Kirche piped in from the other end of the classroom nervously.

"And why is that?" Professor Schweinorg asked with a friendly smile.

One of the other students in the class cut in. He was a fatter student, and sounded like the other students in his obnoxious tone, "Because that's Louise the Zero for you, Professor. Every spell she case blows up in her face!"

"S-shut up!" Louise shouted. She jumped out of her seat and yelled, "At least I'm not the Common Cloud, or was it the Cutting Cheese, right Malicorne?"

"Good one, Master!" Illyasviel whispered from behind Louise and gave a thumbs-up and a wink.

"Zero, that only happened once in class!" The fat boy, Malicorne, yelled back.

Professor Schweinorg chuckled deeply as he held up his hands, "Now, now, children, we are all here to learn. Why don't you come up here Miss Vallière?"

"Of course, professor," Louise replied, using a similar tone that Malicorne had used.

"Now then, I will cut the rabbit and you shall begin the moment I make the cut, alright, Miss Vallière?" At her nod, Professor Schweinorg reached into the cage and grabbed a fresh rabbit. It was a white one, and looked very adorable to Louise.

She could not help but wince when the professor slashed his dagger across the rabbit, but she knew that she was racing for its survival. So she gathered as much willpower as she could, and chanted the spell like the professor showed. All the while, the professor stood back with a strange smile on his face. It was curious, Louise's mind noted, but she did not care what the professor thought. The important thing was to accomplish magic here!

At first, it seemed like she was actually going to get this spell right. Sure, the water that streamed out of the glass looked like there were a thousand tiny bubbles exploding inside it, but it still streamed to the rabbit. But then, like all her spells, this one blew up in her face. It covered her with nearly boiling water, and most of the class in the first few rows who were unlucky enough to not have moved before Louise's demonstration, causing Louise and some of her fellow students to cry in pain.

"BWAAAAAAAAAH!"

Louise blinked. _Wait, that was not her_… it did not even sound like any of her classmates. Louise looked up and saw to her horror that the rabbit had stood up, transformed. Its mouth was foaming like a creature mad with rabies. Its eyes had grown round and large and looked like it was popping out of its skull, and its teeth had also grown, looking like some sick demented yet cartoon version of the rabbit. The teeth had somehow morphed into only two large incisors, and the rabbit looked like it could stand on its hind legs, like some monstrous humanoid.

With a loud battle cry, the rabbit jumped onto Louise's head and yelled again. "BWAAAAAAAH!" It jumped and hopped out of Louise's grasp, onto her classmates, causing general pandemonium.

From the front of the classroom, Professor Schweinorg droned on with a smirk on his face, "As you can see, when healing spells are cast incorrectly, they twist their… victims… into something quite alike to an abomination."

All the while, almost the whole class was frantically running around trying to avoid or catch the rabbit.

"Observe how twisted the rabbit is now, class, for the sake of our studies and science! Why, one could almost make a pun on its rabid appearance and call it a raving rabbid." Here, the professor paused to allow himself a hearty chuckle.

Then, the rabbit exploded in the middle of the class, showering the students in red, sticky rabbit fur.

Louise looked on in horror this entire time. When the rabbit exploded, it was the final straw and she ran out of the classroom.

"Well," the professor grinned shamelessly. He scratched his chin, where his grey beard grew, and chuckled again, "I suppose that concludes today's demonstration. Will one of you tell Miss Vallière she would not have to come back to this class, alright? Her magic is quite incompatible with healing… Perhaps she should have used a… _snerk_… holy hand grenade…"


	4. Preparing the Stage

**The Third Magic**

_Due to the length of this chapter, and on AlfheimWanderer's urging, I decided to cut this chapter into two chapters. This is the second half!  
><em>

__A-AlfheimWander is credit to the t-team! _I-I-I h-hope you g-guys l-like it, I mean, I-i-i-i-it's n-n-not like I want y-you to r-r-read this or a-anything... go ch-choke on it and d-d-d-die! _

R-Remember t-that um... to l-l-l-leave a-a r-review p-please!

* * *

><p>After a morning that seemed entirely too long, lunch time had come around at last, heralded by the grumbling stomachs of a motley assortment of students of many shapes and sizes. The din of background chatter filled the air, harmonizing with the clinks and clangs of silverware on porcelain as hungry youths devoured their noon-time refreshments as if they'd never see another meal again (even Malicorne, the slightly pudgy wind-mage who could stand to skip a few).<p>

Now, one could often see in lunchtime interactions a microcosm of greater society, as exclusive cliques of young nobles gathered in one area or another around certain influential individuals, while shunning those considered social lepers. Two of those thus avoided were Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, she was called "the Zero", and her familiar, the snow-haired girl called Illyasviel von Einzbern.

Neither particularly cared at the moment, as they were more focused on the desserts in front of them: slices of sinfully rich chocolate cake, moist and delicious with layers of cream and cherries, enhanced with a spoonful or two of cherry liquor. Such delicacies were rare even for royalty or the high nobility, as chocolate had to be sourced from the lands beyond Halkeginia, over trade routes that passed through territory controlled by the dreaded elves.

Thus, during the one day a year when the students of the Tristain Academy of Magic had the privilege of enjoying this exotic food (always on the day after the summoning ritual), they savored it as youths their age were wont to do. That is, they wolfed down their snacks and then stared blankly at the empty spot where the cake used to be, as if wondering "is that really all there is?"

Not that these elegant and refined members of the nobility would phrase their habits in such crass terms, but that too was human nature.

"Ah, you got a crumb on there, Louise! Let me...help you with that," Illyasviel noted impishly, her face suddenly all too close to Louise's as a tiny, pink tongue darted from her lips to lick the errant morsel from the pinkette's face.

"Wa-wha-wha-wha...!" the pinkette reacted, babbling as she flinched backwards, nearly falling out of her chair in shock at her familiar's overly familiar actions. A hand moved unbidden to her face, feeling the place where the silver-haired girl had licked. Almost unthinkingly, her fingers traced a line from the patch of saliva to her lips-though as she realized what she was doing, the pinkette pulled her hand away, looking at the offending appendage as if it had betrayed her, her face quickly growing rosy.

Shaking her head at the foibles of humans, Illyasviel ignored her master's weird habits and returned to finishing what was on her plate. But she wasn't allowed to eat in peace, so after a moment, she looked up at Louise, finding that her summoner was now pouting at her.

"Is something wrong, _Master_?" the homunculus purred solicitously, the corners of her lips drawing up into a coquettish smirk at the query.

"I don't think you should try to teach the commoner, er, Siesta, familiar," Louise began, not quite sure how to phrase her objection, but realizing that it would be wise to not antagonize the snow-haired girl. For Illyasviel _was_ a noble (or worse), and it did not do to anger powerful individuals when one craved boons of them. Rather, when one wanted something, it was usually a better idea to make a simple request.

"Oh?" Illyasviel quirked a brow at her summoner at the odd demand, "And why is that?"

"B-because she's a commoner!" Louise stuttered from across the table, her palms slamming down as she shot out of her seat, every eye in the room focusing on her in an instant. This time, the pinkette realized she had become the center of attention and sat down again with a more timid _'eep__.__'_

So much for restraint!

"You're not caught up on that again, are you, Louise?" the snow fairy asked in a too-calm tone, the amusement vanishing from her alabaster features as she looked icily at the pinkette. "After all, if I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach her. I either teach both of you...or neither. Which one would you prefer?"

Louise shivered under the weight of those piercing, blood red eyes, finding their regard unnerving. What had she said that her familiar took offense with? Everyone knew that commoners couldn't use magic - that was a fundamental truth of the world. Just as humans needed air, water, warmth, and the fruits of the earth to survive, nobles had been gifted with magic by the Founder, set apart from mere commoners by talent and ability, so why did Illya seem almost...annoyed about being reminded of this fact?

To her credit though, she didn't flinch from the other's baleful stare...though it was only the strength of her convictions that allowed her to withstand the ire.

"Commoners don't have magic," the pink-haired mage hissed under her breath. "So it's useless to try and teach them such things, familiar, since they'll never be able to learn it. Don't waste your time..."

"Oh?" the snow fairy asked, a dark gleam in her eyes as she placed a finger to her lips in thought, her smile growing cruel. "You mean like everyone thinks you can't use magic?"

A visible flinch this time, as Louise looked away, an expression of wounded vulnerability flashing across her face at this pointed reminder of her helplessness. For what Illya said was true: the Vallière girl couldn't properly use magecraft. All she could do was ruin anything she touched, turn any spell into a grand explosion, defeating the point of learning magic.

"...that's..." the pinkette protested weakly, though she trailed off, biting her lip. Bad enough she'd already humiliated herself once today by blowing up that rabbit, with everyone in that water magic class remembering how she looked covered in the steaming entrails of the animals. She didn't want any more negative attention from her peers...didn't know if she could stand it. "...that's... different."

"Is that so?" Illyasviel inquired, tilting her head questioningly. Fortunately for Louise's peace of mind, she didn't press the issue. "Then tell me, aren't there no mages who are not nobles... or nobles with no magic?"

Louise flinched yet again, for that question hit far too close to home. Of course there were some mages who were not nobles... since they had lost their titles for one crime or another. And of course there were nobles who didn't possess much talent in magecraft, but they tended to be treated like trumped up commoners, married off to cement alliances or simply disowned.

...but why was Illya asking about this? Even if she was from some unknown place called "Jaa-pahn", she had roots in Germania, so shouldn't she know about this already?

_'Oh, right... _Germanian_ roots.'_

Germania, being a country that hadn't been founded by one of the Founder's heirs, had odd-some would say barbaric-views on the relationship and distinction between commoners and nobles. There, one didn't have to be a mage to be a noble, as those of wealth could simply _acquire_ a noble title, which defeated the purpose of the Founder's gift.

Such a thing wasn't quite consistent with the teachings of the Church, but in a land where might made right, Germania's size and military strength allowed it to espouse slightly unorthodox views without any consequence more severe than being thought barbaric (as opposed to D'Angleterre, which had been burned to the ground for defying the Church).

"So what happens to commoners with magic in your country, Ilya?" She didn't know what happened to the illegitimate children of Germanian nobles, much less from a land beyond Rub'al Khali, given their no doubt licentious attitudes. Somehow she didn't think that nobles without magic lost their titles there either, since magic wasn't a requirement for nobility in those realms, just great wealth.

To the homunculus, the confused and consternated face of her summoner was actually rather cute, even more so than then the pinkette's scrunched up angry expression.

"Nothing, really," Illya explained solemnly, taking advantage of Louise's lapse in attention to sneak her fork towards Louise's plate and the slice of cake remaining. "Very little of the actual nobility remains in Japan, and most influence goes to wealthy merchants. Most families that thrive on land and old money alone are not very influential - nobility who happen to be magi are a little different because of their power, but magic is a rare and uncommon gift."

"...what?" Louise frowned at her familiar, her puzzlement growing by the second. She knew that magecraft was a gift of the Founder, but... rare? "Nobility that happen to be magi? So most aren't? That... doesn't make any sense..."

"Why not?" the snow-haired girl challenged, eyes sharp once more as her fork snaked from the plate to her mouth with a stolen morsel of delicious chocolate fudge. "After all, there are many royals who are ignorant of the mysteries of magecraft, Master. Surely, you know this?" She devoured the plundered pastry with relish, licking her lips before continuing. "Oh, and you never did answer my question about mages who aren't nobles, or nobles who aren't mages."

"Kings and queens… without magic?" Louise squeaked, her thought processes suffering a catastrophic system failure for a few seconds as she gaped, openmouthed. She blinked, stared, and blinked again, mouth working up and down soundlessly, until it finally closed with a _click. _"No," the pinkette said, shaking her head as if to deny what she'd been told. "No."

She massaged the ridge of her nose in frustration, cradling her head in her hands as she struggled to comprehend the ramifications of this piece of information...and then just set it aside as something that was best not examined too closely. "I… let's just go with the idea that you are from the other side of the world for now." She let off an uneasy chuckle of denial. "Yes, that's what we'll tell everyone else. I'm sure the rest of the world is different if they have never been in contact with the teachings of Brimir anyway… as long as we don't toe the line when it comes to what is and what isn't heretical…"

Sighing, Louise looked down at her plate, intending to eat the last slice of cake on her plate... only to stare in mute horror when she saw that it was empty, save for a tart cherry.

Not a single crumb of the torte itself remained.

_'No... No way...'_ Louise's eyes widened.

The cake was a lie.

_'Maybe... maybe I should ask for another slice?'_

But there wouldn't be any more. There was little enough to begin with, and the Academy had carefully requisitioned just enough chocolate for every individual on campus, staff, faculty or student, to have a slice or two of cake...

"The only mages who aren't nobles are bastards and those who have been stripped of their rank and title," she said after a while, desperate to get her mind on something aside from the thousand natural shocks she'd been exposed to. "There is no other way for commoners to learn magic. And they certainly can't buy wands or any of the magical tools..."

Illyasviel smirked innocently at her master. "Ah, Master," she whispered as she sauntered over to Louise, cupping the pinkette's face with her delicate hands. "You are so cute when you are naïve and ignorant like that."

"I-I-I-I'm not ignorant!" Louise stammered, avoiding the other comment altogether. "I'm not g-going to take that k-kind of insult from you, Familiar!"

But the homunculus only sighed, leaning in closer.

"You look so cute when you're angry, Master," she whispered, looking deeply into Louise's eyes, leaning closer with each word. "You look like a delicious cherry. Ready. To. Be. Plucked…"

At "plucked", she snatched her prize: the liqueur-preserved cherry that Louise had left behind, popping it into her mouth, stem and all, to savor the taste. The snow-haired girl extracted the stem moments later, showing off how she'd tied into a perfect knot with just her tongue. Looking at it, Louise turned beet red at the familiar's audacity...

Before Louise could formulate a reply to such an outrageous act, her rival, Kirche Augusta Frederica von Anhalt Zerbst appeared, spotting the knotted stem as her eyebrows lifted.

"Good afternoon, my comrade!" the redhead greeted as she invited herself to Illyasviel's side. She waved to one of the maids, and soon, a succulent spread of meats and cheeses lay before her - the light lunch selection of most students. "I see you are seducing this tiny Vallière quite well with your talents, Einzbern!"

"Not the hardest task, really," the homunculus noted simply. "She leaves herself wide open for such things."

"Mmm, wide open you say?" Kirche repeated with a smirk. "How... unexpected."

"You. Y-y-y-y-you!" Louise's snarled, her wand in her hand again, wavering between the busty redhead and the petite snow girl but not releasing the blast of concussive force she was known for. Still, she realized it wouldn't do any good to just rampage here, so she forced herself to stand down, even thought she'd really like nothing more than to blast Kirche in the face. "What are you doing here, Zerbst?"

"Oh, I'm hurt," Kirche replied, the very picture of injured innocence. "Can't a friend visit another and socialize during lunch?"

Louise grumbled but bit back the retort about how Kirche was no friend of hers, and should just go away to somewhere she was wanted. She didn't like the Germanian, found her crass, uncouth, and quite frankly, annoying, but...at the same time, she didn't want her to leave. At least the von Zerbst was someone more normal than Illya or the invisible earth elemental that the familiar had called forth.

Not after Illya had taken advantage of their isolation earlier to embarrass her.

"Where is Tabitha?" she asked instead. "She's always with you, isn't she?"

"Here," the petite Gallian answered simply, seeming to appear out of thin air next to Louise, causing the pink-haired girl to almost leap out of her in surprise.

_'How does she do that?'_

"Why hello there, Tabitha!" Illyasviel said to the cold girl, giving her a slight curtsey only to be ignored. The blue-haired girl had buried her nose into a thick tome even before Illyasviel finished her greeting, something on the interrelation of composite elemental spells. "Mouu…" the homunculus pouted, blinking at this treatment. "Nobles in this country are certainly very strange, Miss Zerbst."

"Why yes they are," Kirche acknowledged at Illyasviel's innocent statement, a cat-like grin slinking across her features. "However this country has made some very interesting contributions to Halkeginian culture. Wouldn't you agree, Vallière?"

"Hmph!" Louise crossed her arms, scowling at the two Germanians sitting across the table. She knew full well what they were doing! They were teaming up on her, trying to play games with her. Well, that wouldn't do. She'd just have to lecture them about the great accomplishments of Tristain, and how they had done much, unlike the uncouth barbarians of Germania. "Tristan has produced some of the most amazing inventions used all around, developed masterpieces of art and beauty—"

"—like the _ménage a trois!_" Kirche cut in, clapping her hands as Louise looked stricken, giving Illyasviel an exaggerated, one-armed squeeze which Illyasviel...seemed to lean into?

_'Gah! What... attraction between girls? But that's... that's unnatural!'_

She tried to dismiss this as a figment of an overactive imagination, but it wasn't helped by Tabitha choosing that moment to set her book on the table and utter: "Girl's love?"

It was as if the whole world was conspiring against her.

_'By the Founder...what did I do to deserve this?'_

…First the cake, then the talk of strange lands and now this?

_'I'm in despair! The oddness of Germanians has left me in despair...!'_

She couldn't even muster up the energy to protest. All she could do was cradle her head in her hands and moan. "I… I'm going to have to put up with this for the rest of my time at school, aren't I?"

"Ah, you're getting it already!" Kirche exclaimed jovially, giving Louise a wide smile. "Look at us, Tabitha! We're becoming great friends so quickly!"

The bluenette chose to ignore her friend's boisterous outburst to concentrate on her book, but Louise could have sworn she saw the shadow of a smile on the petite Gallian.

"Oh, cheer up, master... don't be so sad_!_" She didn't expect Illya to somehow appear at her side, wrapping her arms around Louise and rubbing their cheeks together in a way that was far too intimate for comfort. "Isn't it wonderful to be around friends?"

_'She's just like a cat, bringing bad luck...'_

"L-let me go! I-I'm not s-sad at all!" Louise retorted, struggling and failing to escape Illyasviel's grasp, as the petite girl was apparently stronger than her frail appearance would suggest. "Ilya, let go, this is embarrassing!"

"Girl's love," Tabitha repeated after watching the scene for a moment, turning to bury her head in a book once more.

Kirche smirked as she stood up and walked to Louise's other side. To the pinkette's great annoyance, the Germanian redhead wrapped her arms around both Louise and Illyasviel. Louise whined in protest, trying to flail about, but all this accomplished was to rub her against Kirche's substantial cleavage - which she froze at the feeling of. "Look, how adorable these two are, Tabitha! They are like dolls. I must have them both!"

The book was shut, and Kirche thought Tabitha was about to answer, but...

"Class?" The silent girl said simply.

...it seemed the time for teasing was at an end.

Kirche's arms loosened immediately as she backed away, letting a frenzied and bewildered Louise catch her breath. Illya, too, released Louise, and returned the pinkette's indignant air with a beatific smile. She clapped her hands gently and said, "Ah! That's right, it's time for class. Come along now, you two!"

_'...thank the Founder. I'm saved...'_ Louise thought, beginning to wonder if anything was worth this humiliation as she was dragged along in her familiar's wake...

* * *

><p>Illya always found it curious that the afternoon mob, shuffling away to their classrooms after having replenished their essential sugars and proteins, was always far more lethargic than the ravenous crowd that surged like an unstoppable wave towards the dining hall for lunch. Then again, it was natural for humans to be lazy after having one appetite or another sated, and there were some who said that eating the wondrous substance called chocolate mirrored other more carnal pleasures.<p>

The homunculus was not looking forward to this basic class, given that she'd already been taught all she needed by Sella and the memories of her ancestors. Classes in _any _world tended to be the same: long, drawn out, and boring, with professors that were usually full of themselves and didn't think much of the capabilities of their students. A pity that she wasn't wearing the Dress of Heaven, or she'd be able to show them just what she was capable of, but... well, she didn't exactly want to turn everyone who touched her to gold either, so that wouldn't work so well.

Kirche left the Louise and Illya in front of this door as she headed off to her own room, with the snow-haired girl watching her as the redhead's figure receded into the distance, her hips swaying hypnotically and leaving a slight warm feeling in Illyasviel's lower torso that she dismissed as an annoyance.

_'Well, I guess she's not boring...'_

The buxom Germanian did make things more interesting with her teasing when she was around, finding ways to elicit reactions from people however she could. Illya could tell that her intentions weren't hostile... in some ways they seemed similar in how they approached the world, going after what they wanted and 'playing' with people.

_"The pink supervisor seems distressed, Master..." _Heracles observed in his intangible state, though he didn't know what he could do to make the girl feel better. He was a legendary hero renowned for his might, not his spectacular people skills. _"Perhaps you should say something?"_

"So what element of magic does this class teach?" Illyasviel inquired, turning to a Louise who was visibly disturbed, as if trying to force the memories of last class from her head.

"I...it's practical earth magic," the Vallière replied resignedly, knowing that she would probably fail to produce any results here. Even so, she took a deep breath and strode through the door, finding her way to a seat in the back, where she would hopefully not be noticed. "Something _you_'re good at, right?"

…A logical conclusion, given her observations of the giant Illya had summoned and bound to her will.

"You could say that," the homunculus admitted with a sly smile. And it was true, after a fashion, as traditional Einzbern thaumaturgy was related to the alchemic manipulation of matter and creation. "Are you hoping to use this element, Louise?"

"Call me Master," Louise answered almost on reflex, setting down her tools with a heavy _thud_. "Something has to work. There's a key in one of these four elements, right? I mean...surely there's _something_ I can do besides just blowing things up..."

"...but blowing things up is so _interesting,"_ Illya purred, sending an odd shiver down Louise's spine, one that the pinkette swore was from how disturbed she was. It wasn't as if such a response could be provoked by any other emotion...right?

"...that isn't a true spell, just an uncontrolled release of power," Louise muttered, shaking her head. "There has to be something I'm doing wrong. I have to figure it out. Things might be different where you come from, but in Tristain, without magic, a noble is nothing."

"Oh, so a noble rank isn't simply granted for service to one's sovereign?" Illyasviel questioned mildly, trying to work out how things worked in this country.

Louise frowned at this, eyes seeming to flick back and forth as she thought back to long ago lessons by her tutors.

"Well, that's true, but that comes with nobility!" Louise retorted, grimacing. "Someone without magic couldn't possibly contribute as much to society as someone with it. That much should be obvious, familiar!"

"I see," Illyasviel noted simply, pursing her lips as she considered this. She supposed that in a society where magecraft were obviously more prevalent than in the world she knew (and without high-level technology), a magus could be considered a noble because of what he or she could contribute.

Before the Einzbern could think further on their conversation, a plump, middle-aged woman walked in to the room. She was tightly covered by dark robes and hat of garish shade of purple and was a typical academic, from the look of her. Perhaps she was someone who enjoyed exerting her power over students but would snap like a reed from any real pressure.

"Well, it seems that the Springtime Familiar Summoning was a great success. I, Chevreuse the Red Clay, will be teaching you the magic of the Earth element," the female professor announced in the typically overdone lecturer's drone. Illyasviel had seen many people like the professor in the past, as many of the more bumbling magi were like that – scholars who prized knowledge without being able to use it in any way. But then, that could describe most of the human members of the Einzbern family, who were inexperienced in combat at best, as they often relied on their homunculi to fight their battles for them. "Of the five elements of magic, counting the legendary Void, I believe Earth holds an extremely important position. This isn't just because my affinity is Earth, nor is it simply a personal preference."

The professor coughed in a fashion to get attention, though after seeing the deathly nature of Styx, Louise was far less disturbed by this.

"The magic of Earth is very important magic, as it governs the creation of all matter," Chevreuse continued, extolling the virtues of this element. "Why, if it wasn't for Earth magic, we wouldn't be able to produce or process necessary metals from ore. Raising buildings from large boulders, harvesting crops, building cities would also involve much more work. As such there are none who have not been touched by earth magic."

With a wave of her wand, several pebbles materialized before her, clattering to the desk below. It was a simple display of magic, but one that evoked quite a few admiring gasps from the students, as their golden color was… impressive. The children flocked to the glimmering metal.

"Now, everyone, please recall that the basic magic of the Earth element is 'transmutation'," she intoned, looking from student to student. "While most of you have learned this in the introductory courses of first year, it is important to understand the basics before we can move onto more advanced applications of the art."

"P-Professor, is… is that _gold_?" sputtered the blond fop named Guiche, whose eyes were fixed on the gleaming nuggets of metal. To make gold and not even seem winded was quite impressive.

Was the professor a powerful square mage?

"Ah, no, it isn't," Chevreuse denied, with false modesty. "It's plain brass. Only Square-class mages are able to transmute things to gold. I'm just..." She paused, giving a self-important cough. "…a Triangle mage..."

There was a stir in the class at the professor's admission, as triangle-class mages were few and far in between. Perhaps they were not as rare as square mages, but they were rather powerful all the same.

But one person in the classroom was not impressed.

"Ne, Louise, what's the difference between a triangle mage and a square mage?" Illya asked, resting her head on arms. So the other could make pebbles appear. She'd seen much more impressive feats done with projection magic.

'_That Archer who created and broke a Noble Phantasm, for instance…'_

"W-What?" Louise hissed, eyes bulging in disbelief. She knew that her familiar's training had probably been different if she was of another land, but…how could she not know such a fundamental thing? Still, it wouldn't do to attract attention, so she forced herself to control her voice. "How can you not know what the difference is?"

"Silence, children," the professor warned from the front of the class, tapping her wand on the desk for attention before continuing her lecture.

Not terribly inclined to heed the obnoxious woman in purple who was '_hem-heming'_ at them, Illyasviel just ignored her, continuing with her line of inquiry.

"If I don't know something, then I don't know it," the snow-haired girl noted gravely. "So come on, explain to me! You want to learn my magic, right? You're not making a very good impression on your teacher…"

Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière flushed at the non-too-subtle reminder that their relationship _wasn't_ simply that of master and familiar, and biting her tongue to refrain from saying something scathing, decided that giving an explanation would be the simplest thing in the long run.

"The power of a person's spells, and thus their rank as a mage is determined by how many 'elements' he or she can add to a spell. Guiche, for instance," Louise pointed at the blond fop who was listening raptly to the lecture, "is a 'dot' mage, having ability to use only basic earth magic. Mrs. Chevreuse, on the other hand, can use more advanced magic as a Triangle-mage, using earth as her base and stacking two elements on top of it."

"Huh. Is that how it works then?" Illya asked, noting the oddities of the system. "What elements does she have then?"

"Earth-Earth-Fire," the Vallière girl recited. She'd studied up on her professors in the past, gleaning what information she could about them in the hope she could get on their good side.

"But wouldn't that just be a line mage then?" the homunculus inquired, tilting her head slightly. "Earth and fire are two, not three."

"You can add an element to itself, which reinforces a spell and makes it stronger," Louise noted, shaking her head. How could someone be this powerful of a mage, and yet so ignorant of the basics? "Instead of saying four elements, say a person's magical ability is like four jars that can be filled with water dyed one color or another. How much water you can pour into another container depends on how much you have, no matter what color, with your overall affinity depending on the resulting color. Does that make sense?"

"Huh. Interesting. So prana capacity here is divided up into elemental compartments," Illya muttered, making some connections between this system and the one she was familiar with. "Well, that's similar enough to normal magecraft, allowing for a non-elemental base as well…"

"Miss Vallière!" Professor Chevreuse called from the front of the class. Her face was creased with a slight frown as she stared down the pinkette and the snow-haired girl. "Please refrain from private chatter during lessons."

"I'm sorry," Louise said meekly, hoping against hope that she wouldn't be called up once again.

"Well, since you have time to chitchat, then you know the material right?" the plump woman in purple asked solicitously. "Perhaps you'd care to demonstrate your mastery of the basics, then?" She waved her wand, causing new pebbles to appear. "Come up and change these pebbles into a metal of your choice."

"Ah—what?" Louise blinked and protested, looking rather troubled. This would turn into another disaster. A disaster she'd be blamed and given detention for, just like every other time…

But before the talentless mage could stand and walk to the front of the class to be humiliated once more, Illyasviel placed a hand on Louise's shoulder, gently but firmly keeping the girl in her chair.

"Excuse me, professor, but I was the one disrupting your class," the homunculus announced into the still air. "Miss Vallière was simply clarifying some points for me, so I'll demonstrate in her stead."

Professor Chevreuse opened her mouth to say that wouldn't be necessary, but one look at the girl's crimson eyes paralyzed her where she stood, as if the Einzbern's gaze had removed her ability to move at all, leaving her helpless to watch as Illya made her way towards the front of the classroom, all eyes on her.

"What?" One student muttered under his breath. "Isn't that… the Zero's familiar? Why is she dressed as a noble?"

"Huuu—you're right," Guiche noted, watching the snow-haired girl. "What… how talented could she be if her master is a Zero, right?"

Laughter sounded as the homunculus strode implacably towards the front of the room, where a frozen Chevreuse now stood. Illya nimbly plucked the wand from the plump professor's hand, seeming to test its weight and heft for a moment before smirking dangerously.

"Well, then, here I go…"

A simple utterance and a swish of the wand, as a surge of prana came forth, the pebbles changing form from rock to shimmering threads of light that danced in the air, coming and weaving together into the form of a golden falcon, an automaton of gleaming metal with the imprint of a rune glowing on its head, exquisitely detailed.

It took flight, surging from the outpouring of light to circle the room, before coming about and landing on the homunculus' shoulder, where it was immediately obvious to all around that it was wrought of _gold._

Demonstration completed, Illya handed the wand back to Mrs. Chevreuse, who began to move as the rod touched her hands, as if snapped out of a trance. At the sight of the metallic bird of prey perched on the snow-haired girl's shoulder, lifelike in every detail except color, the plump woman looked stricken, almost fearful of the image before her.

All it took was a mere muttered spell and a wave of her pilfered wand.

"No… that's…"

"Well, does this meet your expectations, Professor Chevreuse?" Illyasviel asked, her smile almost…predatory as she curtseyed, with the automaton swiveling its head to regard the purple-clad one. "A simple demonstration, as requested. Transmuting these pebbles into something of _gold_…"

A trivial thing for her, really, since one of the Einzbern artifacts had once turned living things to that gleaming metal, and her family had constructed the Great Grail long ago.

"I… I…" was all Mrs. Chevreuse could say as she stared at the falcon, fear, jealousy and amazement evident in her gaze. Then she looked up, catching sight of the familiar's smile, as the blood drained from her face and she collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap.

In the wake of this, the class was utterly still, frozen in a tableau of shock.

"Oh well," Illya chirped into the silent classroom. "Class dismissed, I suppose. Come along, Miss Vallière. Now, if you please."

With that, she flounced out of the room, quite amused. Less shocked than most, though still surprised that someone would come to her defense, Louise packed her things and followed, sparing only a glance at Chevreuse the Red Clay, the teacher who had been shown up by a student she picked on. After such a demonstration of ability, she wasn't about to defy her familiar…even if _she_ was supposed to be the master. And so she left, the door closing behind with a resounding boom.

In the classroom, pandemonium erupted.

* * *

><p>Siesta giddily swept through the hallowed halls of the Tristain Academy of Magic, for once paying little heed to the nobles around her. Since her conversation with Miss Vallière and…Mistress Illya, the hapless maid had found it hard to concentrate on her duties, especially since she knew that soon her contract would be transferred to the Vallière family and she would not be bound to the whims of the Academy's students any longer.<p>

Torrid images raced through her mind as she walked, each brush of fabric against her skin reminding her of the snow-haired girl's touch, and how it had evoked strange feelings inside her. To be chosen to be a companion of the fairy-like princess, to attend to her every need, her every urge…why it was something out of one of those romance novels she read in her spare time. Siesta felt her body heat up at the thought, the tips of her ears nearly glowing with how indecent her mind was being.

The maid shook her head quickly, trying to think of more modest reasons for following the young friend of Miss Vallière, aside from the lure of magic.

While she didn't understand much about the subject, one picked up a few things from working in a Magical Academy for years, and so Siesta was fairly certain that there was no way for her to learn the arcane arts.

She was but a commoner.

That was something she could not change, no matter what, and she _knew _that, even if a selfish part of her lusted for that power, that she might be the one with might, might be the abuser rather than the abused, maybe even whipping the no-.

'Bad thoughts, Siesta. Bad thoughts…'

At least, if she simply worked for the Mistress, she would not be subject to the whims of lustful boys who only wanted to use her body as a coarse receptacle for their lusts. Though now that she thought about it, Mistress Illya's intentions didn't seem so different from those of the boys – so why did she think about her differently? Was it because the Mistress was kind and playful? Was it because she paid attention? Or was it because…she was a girl?

'No… surely that's not the reason…'

Thinking back to a day before, Siesta's hands snaked into her skirt, as the maid withdrew the crystalline container that Illyasviel had casually given her the first time they met, a phial filled with a clear, purple liquid that shimmered curiously in the glass.

Siesta twisted the stopper on the bottle lightly with two fingers, but did not open it, wondering what it could be. She wondered, where had her Mistress found this? And what exactly was it? Perfume might be the case, but why give perfume to a commoner? She was about to open it anyway, just to see what the scent was, when her silver-haired mistress hopped down the hallways to her, a wide smile on her face and a…golden bird perched on her shoulder?

…Siesta had learned that sometimes, it was better to simply not ask about the foibles of nobles, lest they take offense…or drown her with a deluge of thaumaturgical details that hurt her head. Granted, she'd only seen such craftsmanship a few times, and never in gold, but…

'_I really shouldn't ask.'_

"Siesta!" Illyasviel skipped over to her maid, peering at the item in the girl's hand. "What are you playing with there?"

"Gah!" Siesta gasped and fumbled, suddenly clumsy around her benefactor. The crystal bottle slipped from her hands, in her nervousness, and despite her best attempts, she failed to grasp it. It was nearly dashed to the floor, save that there was a flash of gold, as the falcon on Illya's shoulder dived and grabbed the vial with wickedly sharp talons.

"My… I'd almost think you didn't like my gift… _Siesta,"_ the homunculus purred, as she took the vial from the falcon and replaced it in the maid's trembling hands.

"M-Mistress, I… that's not…" the maid said shakily, blushing all the while.

"Well, I'm glad you like it then," the snow-haired girl nodded. "When I found it last night in the middle of the hall, I thought it looked quite pretty, a perfect match for you."

"T-thank you, Mistress Ilya, but… d-doesn't this belong to someone else?" Siesta asked, swallowing as she thought about the perfume. Such would be an expensive item, even for a noble, so what if one took offense for her holding on to it?

"Mm, of course not," Illyasviel replied with a soft chuckle, as the golden bird landed once again on her shoulder. She placed a finger on her lips in thought as she recalled the exact situation. "The boy who had it to begin with seemed to want nothing to do with it, so if he wasn't going to use it or keep it, I'd like you to have it, since such a thing is better used enhancing your beauty than sitting unloved and unused."

"U-um, thank you, Mistress," Siesta said, blushing as she felt the delicate heat of Illya's hands on hers, remembering where else they had roamed.

Seeing how adorable the maid looked, the snow fairy was about to hug the curvy maid, but alas, their joyous moment was interrupted by the shout of one far less noble than she pretended to be, as a blonde, red-faced hellion with drill curls stalked towards her, glaring at the maid… or rather, at the crystal vial in her hands.

This was Montmorency Margarita La Fère de Montmorency, called Montmorency the Fragrance, and she was pointing a shaking finger at Siesta, making her feel very uncomfortable.

"You there, servant!" Montmorency all but snarled as she stalked down the corridor, as if cornering vulnerable prey. Siesta would have felt better if the girl was running, or at least stomping angrily, rather than slinking forward inexorably like a predator who knew there was no reason to exert herself unnecessarily, as there would be no escape from her wrath.

"Y-Yes, Miss Montmorency?" Siesta trembled as the girl walked up to her, staring at the bottle in her hands intensely as if she didn't think a commoner deserved such things. Seeing this, Siesta unconsciously clenched the glass tighter, fingers growing white against the vial.

"Where. Did. You. Get. That?" The blond girl's voice hissed out like the arctic wind, chilling in its intensity as she now glared at the maid who would dare presume that such an opulent thing must be hers.

"I, um, M-m-mistress Ilya gave it to m-me," Siesta replied meekly, swallowing as she hoped the noble wouldn't hurt her. Technically, she was still a member of the Academy's staff until tomorrow, so…

"Ilya?" Montmorency frowned, with the blonde finally noticing the silver-haired girl beside the maid, grimacing at the thought that the Zero might be involved with this. "Oh, it's you, the Zero's familiar." There was a flicker of surprise, but only for a moment, as it faded, and ice returned to her voice. "So you're the one who stole this from me, was it?"

"Hm? This certainly isn't _yours_," Illyasviel said frostily, leveling a baleful stare at the water mage. "I found it in the Great Hall last night, after its owner had set it aside. So why are you cl—"

"I claim nothing, because Guiche would never do such a thing," Montmorency snapped, scowling in contempt at the… _familiar_. "You thought you could trick me so easily, _familiar? _A liar and a thief, are you? Just like your Master the Zero, I see, lying about being a mage and stealing another's position in society."

The air seemed to thicken and congeal, growing heavy and ominous as Illya expressed her utter lack of amusement, with Montmorency's hot rage filling the space between them. The entire situation was uncomfortable, and Siesta trembled, letting out a small 'eep' of fear.

"…What was that?" Montmorency growled, the small sound drawing her attention to the maid. "Oh, I see, you stole it and gave it to this maid so you could visit your perversions on her. How indecent."

"Miss. T-that is, I don't think that Mistr-" Whatever Siesta would have said was cut off by the blonde water mage, who withdrew her wand and in one motion, used simple levitation to hurl the maid against the wall…or would have, save that Illya _moved, _letting her more durable body shield the maid from harm, with the falcon flashing into the sky.

A moan of pain…

"You dare interrupt your betters?" The blond girl cried shrilly, raising her wand against a backward flinching Siesta, as if to do worse. "Know your place, servant! What truly happened?"

"You…" Illya intoned coldly, filling the hallway with deadly killing intent, very unhappy with things now. "I'll give you one warning, girl. Stop this at once or suffer the consequences."

"What? You… you dare to threaten me?" Montmorency sneered at the silly brat who followed Louise the Zero around, her uncontrolled fury allowing her to shrug off the discomfort of the killing intent. "What could you possibly do, little _familiar_? Pretending to have power, while you're just a little girl and a commoner, aren't you? Stand in my way and _you _and your master will suffer the consequences."

She lifted her wand threateningly, but before she could let out a spell, the golden falcon slashed her arm open from wrist to elbow with its razor-sharp talons down to the bone, and flew back into the air, as rich arterial blood flowed freely.

Montmorency could only stare for a few moments as blood pumped from her body. She had trained in water spells, was theoretically the top of her class in healing magic, but she'd never before had to deal with the sight of her own blood.

A frantic channeling of willpower, as Montmorency chanted, her attention drawn away from the maid and the familiar and to her own arm, as she tried to heal herself before she bled out, ignoring even the approaching presence of the Zero as she strained to close the wounds…and succeeded, though she felt quite lightheaded afterwards.

"You…" she hissed with murder in her eyes as she glared at the Einzbern, upon whose shoulder the falcon now rested. "You would steal from me, then raise your hand against me, you mere _mongrel_ of Zero?" She was no longer thinking rationally, after the events that had transpired: the assumed theft, the denials, the way she'd been wounded and mortally insulted. "I, Montmorency Margarita La Fère de Montmorency, User of water, member of the lineage of old oath, challenge you to a duel, little one. And this time, you can leave your… pet bird out of this."

"My pet?" Illya repeated, tapping her chin with her finger as her smile grew sadistic. "Teenage girls' minds sure run in strange circles, don't they? Can't you see that this is an automaton of metal?"

"W-what?"

Montmorency was slightly taken aback, but in her haze of anger, was not thinking clearly enough to realize the implications of what she had thought a bird being merely a golden clockwork automaton.

"Ah, perhaps you are just stupid then, rude girl," Illyasviel clapped her hands cutely, eyes dark and sharp. "But since you insist… yes… I, Illyasviel von Einzbern, the… _familiar _of Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, do accept your challenge."

* * *

><p>Montmorency Margarita la Fère de Montmorency tossed her long, blonde ringlets behind her back as the door to her room slammed shut with a resounding clash. Understandably, she was quite on edge, given the events of the last few minutes, when her honor and pride as a noble had been insulted as never before by the Vallière's rude upstart of a familiar. The girl had had the unmitigated gall to apparently steal a vial of the perfume that Montmorency had painstakingly prepared, deny it, and then even to injure her? Even for her, such deeds were unforgivable, and so she had ended up challenging the snow-haired girl to a duel, something she normally held to be a barbaric holdover from the days of war. Still, she had to teach the Vallière and her familiar a lesson in etiquette, or else that presumptuous failure of a mage and her joke of a servant would humiliate her.<p>

Even now, after stepping away from the infuriating brat, her mind burned from how presumptuous the other had been, and how the familiar had interfered with her _right_ to punish a thieving commoner.

When she had seen the tiny silver-haired girl and that harlot of a maid (who had caught the attention of quite a few noble boys—probably sleeping with them for money or other luxuries—and had now apparently set her eyes on _Guiche_) at a clandestine meeting in the halls to slake their unnatural lusts, the water mage had been quite tempted to simply turn the other way and pretend she'd seen nothing. After all, people as backwards as commoners and Germanians had obviously not been blessed by the Founder, and thus could not be held to those of the realms the Founder had once ruled.

Surely, that was why God and Brimir had placed the royal families of Tristain, Albion, and Gallia above the common masses, with the Church to aid them in guiding poor unenlightened souls towards the greater good. For without the guidance of virtuous mages and the _culture _of enlightenment they perpetuated, commoners and the barbarians who aped the example of proper nobles would be as helpless babes in the woods, unable to grow enough food to feed themselves, unable to construct shelter, unable even to procure clean water or defend themselves from harm.

Still, in spite of the guidance they had been given, it was inevitable that some would not heed the words of their betters and get _ideas_. Like the little whore who apparently found it sporting to indulge her base perversions with _nobles_, as if that commoner were worthy of the smallest drop of seed, and wanted to corrupt young men with her lewd body. The slut who apparently saw Guiche de Gramont, the most popular of the second-year boys, as her next victim... as thinking she could please him better than Montmorency herself.

Such a thing... such a thing could not be allowed to pass unchallenged—the girl needed to be shown her place in the order of things, to learn the penalty of offending a noble!

After that, everything had been a blur, as the situation escalated too quickly for the blonde to follow. One moment, she was interrogating the servant about her true motives, seeking to unearth the truth behind her lies; the next, she was attacked by the rude and uncouth familiar of Zero, who apparently saw it as proper behavior to attack one of her betters... and with an _Alvíss, _no less, not daring to attack herself.

_'She thinks to avoid the insult of raising a hand against me by blaming the actions on that golden fowl, does she? Such tricks will not work against me...'_

So that brat would attempt to get around the punishment she deserved on a technicality, would she? It was said that a familiar was like its master, but it truly was uncanny how like the Vallière upstart the little girl was, pretending to be strong when undoubtedly, she was the weakest of the weak, drawn in by a commoner's charms...

_'Weak enough that any minute now, she will be at my door, begging to apologize once she realizes that I am a line-class mage, as far beyond her as she pretends to be beyond commoners,' _the blonde water mage thought to herself, a darkly vindictive smile on her face as she thought of how to make the Zero and her servant repay her_. 'At least that_ Vallière _would have the sense to do so, after I've challenged her familiar to a duel...'_

The Montmorency heiress looked down at her wrist, at the now-smooth skin where the uncouth familiar's bird had slashed her flesh open to the bone. While she had worked her magic and healed it using much of her willpower, the phantom pains of the memory still remained.

_'Still, an automaton wrought of gold is no toy, so how did the little girl acquire it?'_

Or more appropriately, when and where would the girl have acquired it? Undoubtedly the_ Zero_ could afford to buy something of the sort on her enviable allowance, but the pinkette had never shown an interest in such things, spending her time holed up in the library studying fruitlessly. Then too, the Vallière girl was of the miserly sort, and she wouldn't spend the money to buy such a thing...

Montmorency grimaced at the thought of the pinkette, and how the talentless girl had everything handed to her in life, while she... _she _had to work for everything she had ever had. Nothing had been handed to her, she had had to bow and scrape and slave to get the level of ability she deserved, to become the most respected water mage on the campus, to gain the attention of the most handsome boy on campus and so on. Obviously some were jealous of her success, and sought to unseat her from her throne, but for someone like the Zero...

_'How absurd... talentless and unworthy and she still covets my position?'_

Taking a deep breath to dismiss these dark thoughts from her mind, the blonde tossed her head, brushing aside some loose hair and closing her eyes, thinking of how she would make the pinkette suffer for the indignity she had been forced to endure. For was she not Montmorency Margarita la Fère de Montmorency? Was she not a potent line-class water mage of the lineage of old oath, granted the privilege of communing with the Water Spirit of Ragdorian Lake?

_Knock! Knock!_

A dark smile stole across her face at the sound of a rapping, rapping, rapping at her chamber door. Assuredly, this must be the worthless Zero, already here to apologize for her familiar's indiscretions, to beg for mercy. She nearly laughed at the thought of seeing that overly proud girl be forced to bow, to kneel, perhaps even to obey her every whim for sparing her pathetic little life. Such mirth lingered just behind her lips, wiping away the thoughts of the mystery of the golden bird that had injured her.

"Yes…?" Montmorency asked with a saccharine-sweet voice as she opened the door, thinking that she would get the girl to lower her guard then strike. But to her surprise, it was not a pink-haired failure of a mage at her door, but a panting and somewhat disheveled Guiche de Gramont, her lover. "G-Guiche!" she exclaimed, hoping her disappointment that it was not the Zero didn't quite show. "W-what a surprise! What are you doing here?"

Her words came choppy, her surprise evident even to Guiche, who for once sported an unusually serious expression. He wooed her with a serious expression, true, but this was something on an entirely different level. There was no love or lust in his eyes, only what seemed like fear... and perhaps even a hint of desperation.

"Montmorency... I..."

He paused, leaning against the wall and trying to catch his breath, as if he'd run here from the main tower of campus.

"What's going on, my love?" Montmorency asked tentatively. Guiche being uncertain, or physically exerting himself (and not in the course of arduous pursuits) was something that was decidedly out of the ordinary, and humans tended to be unnerved by things that did not match the pattern of things.

"Monmon, no, Montmorency, please... you have to listen to what I have to say," the blond fop gasped out, his breathing still quite ragged and his face… pale? Montmorency frowned worriedly.

_'What could have inspired _this?_'_

"Yes, of course I will, Guiche," the water mage said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. And then something else hit her as a possible _other _reason why Guiche was here. Suspicious, she asked, "Why wouldn't I?"

Guiche the Bronze flinched and looked away, seeming to find the wall unusually curious for some reason, a curious reaction that Montmorency knew the earth mage only exhibited when he was particularly nervous about something. He wouldn't meet her eyes. Rather, he kept swaying from side to side as if he was profoundly agitated, as if he knew that a terrible fate was about to befall him. "Look, Monmon…" He said at last, struggling to find the words he needed. "I... that is... well... I… I heard you were challenged to a duel by Vallière's familiar."

Montmorency blinked. _That_ hadn't been what she expected to hear from her lover. Why... he sounded almost concerned...

_'That can't be right...obviously I would win such a duel. Unless... he's concerned about the Zero?' _ Her mind raced through convoluted hoops and spirals, joining with its analysis of Guiche's unnatural behavior as she jumped to a conclusion: he was cheating on her, as she had expected, and was now coming to defend his _other lover's_ honor. _'But with the Zero? Or that slut of a maid after all?'_

How had he even found out about this? The water mage knew rumors traveled fast in the Academy, but she had never thought that they travelled this quickly.

"No, Guiche," the water mage intoned coldly, her blue eyes like chips of ice as she glared at her wayward boyfriend. "I was not challenged to a duel." At these words, the blond fop started to relax, but then Montmorency continued. "I challenged _her_. How could it be otherwise? The very thought of a commoner challenging a noble. Ludicrous!"

Guiche's eyes seemed to brighten at that, almost feverishly as he took on a spark of hope.

"You... challenged her?" He asked slowly, repeating the words a couple of times as they sank in, before suddenly grabbing hold of the water mage's arms and looking her in the eye. "Then-then you can still back out!"

_'...back out? Who does Guiche take me for? A weak minded first-year that he can push around over promises of eating soufflés with him in the forest or some nonsense?'_

"What do you mean, 'back out', Guiche?" Montmorency said firmly, pushing the feverish boy away as she regarded him with suspiciously. "Why should I back out in a duel against a commoner... unless-"

"Ha... haha... hahaha... Montmorency, you... you actually think that… that the Zero's familiar is a _commoner_?" Guiche squeaked near hysterically, his voice almost disbelieving. "You... I thought you'd heard by now. I mean, everyone is talking about what just happened in class!"

Montmorency blinked again.

_'What?'_

Maybe he... wasn't cheating on her?

"You thought I knew… what?" she asked slowly, a tad confused by the onslaught of words from her lover, though her suspicions lingered, as they often did in her.

"I thought you knew. Th-that girl is no commoner!" Guiche hissed. Despair etched his handsome features, showing a frantic side of him that few in the Academy had ever seen. "She's a _square-class earth mage_, Monmon! Do… do you have any idea what that means?"

"_**WHAT?**_"

A startled shout, as her jaw just about hit the floor, her eyes bulging out of their sockets in sheer shock and disbelief. "You... you're saying… well, that could explain the bird, but…"

"The bird. She transmuted it from pebbles of common stone. In class." Guiche recited frantically, grabbing hold of Montmorency's shoulders again and shaking her none-too-gently, as if to shake some sense into her. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. "Montmorency. Please. You challenged her, you can still back out!"

"I-what? No! No, no, no, m-my honor, my word, would be…" Montmorency shook her head frantically. She couldn't give in, not to the Zero. She couldn't let _that girl_ win. Her world was spinning faster than her eyes could follow, thoughts racing beyond what her mind could handle. She felt dizzy, so dizzy...

"Please, just apologize to Louise and—"

"_Louise_, is it?" Montmorency repeated, fixing on the name as if it were the evidence of her greatest fears, mania in her eyes, her voice, her stance. It was as if the pent up pressures from all the years she'd slaved away had chosen to erupt all at once in this frozen moment. "So… you want me to apologize to _Louise?" _She gripped her lover by the front of his tunic, pulling painfully tight so that it nearly choked him. "Tell me, Guiche, are you not cheating on me?"

"W-What does that have to do with anything, Monmon?" Guiche stammered, nervous at how odd Montmorency was acting. "Your life is far more important than romance right now." He was nervous, his eye twitching in a way that he had never bothered to conceal.

_'I knew something was odd about this. That's why he's here. To try to keep me from fighting the familiar of Zero, by saying one thing or another...'_

"If you care so much, then why don't you fight as my champion in this duel?" The water mage inquired solicitously, her thoughts so scrambled that didn't quite understand the full implications of what she was asking of him, just wanting… wanting to hear him say he would fight for her, that he was not disloyal, even if it was a lie.

But Guiche pulled away from her clutches, naked fear visible on his face as images of him fighting against—and being killed by—the cruel Einzbern filled his mind, with her ending his life in a thousand different ways. Anyone powerful enough to transmute mere pebbles into a _golden automaton_ _with one spell_ was someone to be feared indeed... perhaps she even knew spells which could turn blood to...

_'No. No... That's the stuff of nightmares. Such things do not exist. No one can just pull the iron out of a person's blood...'_

"Montmorency, you know I cannot defeat a square-mage," the dot mage whispered hoarsely, the desire for self-preservation taking hold of him as he backed away. "Ask something else of me. Anything but that! Please...!"

"You… you won't fight for me?" Montmorency asked quietly, her voice low and dangerous. She lowered her head, something that made Guiche calm for a moment before the girl _charged._ In response, the earth mage frantically backpedaled, shutting his eyes and raising his arms to defend his face, all from instincts honed from the reactions of too many furious ex-girlfriends. But it seemed as if his instincts would not be needed as the water mage simply rushed by him. "You... you unfaithful beast, I… we'll talk about this, _after_ I humiliate the Vallière's commoner bitch!"

With these words, Montmorency ran out of the room, refusing to accept anything Guiche had said as truth, her mind a mess, the door slamming behind her.

"Mont…" Guiche started to call out after her, but stopped himself. The blond fop shook his head, running his hands through his unruly hair one more time, feeling the sheen of sweat that had built up over his brow. What to do…? How would he be able to keep Montmorency from being humiliated in front of the whole school, or worse? Was there even a point...?

He was a gentleman, but he had limits, and if Montmorency wanted to run to her death... well, he'd tried to stop her. What had his father had always told about crazy girls again…? Ah, right! Wonderful in bed, but unless you know you won't be around for long, stay far, far away!

Clearly, Montmorency the Fragrance was less than fully sane if she was willing to fight a _square-mage _over some slight or another. That means that it was time to focus his attentions more fully on another of the many girls he was interested in.

…A girl much like the brunette who was turning a corner, fast coming into view: Katie, the loveliest flower of the first years.

He made his decision as a mask of amusement settled over his features and he walked over to the girl, gallantly offering her his arm.

"Why, hello there, Katie, my sweet! I was hoping you'd come by," he said boldly, giving the dark-haired girl a smile that made her blush cutely.

"L-lord Guiche, what a surprise!" she squeaked, not expecting to see him so early in the day, when she didn't have anything for him. "W-why are you here?"

"Ah," the earth mage uttered with a sparkle in his eyes. "Why, you do know I feel most comfortable talking to you? Did you know, I just heard the most succulent of rumors? That the heir of Montmorency is dueling a familiar of all things! But that's not what makes it juicy, for you see…"

* * *

><p>As she walked through the expansive hallways of the castle, Illyasviel von Einzbern took a moment to admire the golden falcon perched on her shoulder. It was almost cute in a fierce way, though the bird's continued existence in its current state was an interesting reminder of her current nature, as the rune glowing in miniature on the metal falcon's head mirrored the one subtly visible on her own.<p>

_'I see it does more than simply channel prana...'_

In addition to preventing the degradation of her form and removing the need to eat, it seemed that the runic matrix contained some additional abilities, not unlike a Thaumaturgical Crest of a sort. This she had discovered when she first grabbed the wand of Professor Chevreuse, a fairly standard amplification-type Mystic Code, and performed the Einzbern alchemy with knowledge engraved upon her soul. The transmutation of rock to gold, the creation of wires and then the metal automaton - these were all part and parcel of what her family had developed long ago.

The forging of it into a more permanent automaton, almost a familiar in its own right, had _not_ been planned, nor the spark of pseudo-intelligence, with the attentive avian sensitive to every change in the environment, its head twitching at every flicker of movement or light. And more, it was not being supplied by her prana so much as the prana of the rune engraved upon her forehead.

_"I'll call you Stymphalides__,_" Illyasviel thought to the gold falcon, which chirped back at her. She giggled as she heard her invisible guardian grunt in recognition. _"Oh, something on your mind, Archer?__  
><em>

"..._something about that name sounds... troublesome," _Heracles' voice rumbled in her mind. Apparently it was also audible to the metallic bird, because it fluttered its golden leaf-like wings and seemed to look directly at the adamantine giant. "_Though at least the feathers are not razor sharp and cannot be launched at others...__._"

_"Reminded of something from your life?_" Illyasviel pouted, a hint of a smile appearing on her lips.

_"Merely a past labor or two," _the giant rumbled in Illyasviel's mind, half-amused and half... regretful. _"Over the millennia, I have had time to think about my life, and how many of my deeds focus on destruction. Rarely is my strength ever used to protect... perhaps that is why I am not so good at it."_

_"That's not true, Archer..."_

_"Yes, I know - I protected you, but... even in that I was not quite strong enough."_

_"No... you were strong, you _are_ strong,"_ Illyasviel replied, frowning. '_I trust you to watch over me, and to defend me when I have need. But unless I fight some of my own battles, I won't be able to walk besides you, Berserker. I'll always be behind..."_

_"...in other words, you wish to fight this... Montmorency without my aid?"_

…A thin, cruel smile…

_"...yes," _the homunculus intoned pitilessly. _"She doesn't deserve the honor of dying by your hand."_

_"As you wish then, little lady," _At that, the greatest hero of Greece fell silent again as he followed his master invisibly, watching for anything that might be more harmful than a simple water mage.

Meanwhile, as Illyasviel walked, she giggled, thinking of the fun she would have with her new pet! Ah, but after her duel of course, though one could call that a type of fun too, if one were inclined.

The snow-haired girl quietly hummed a tune foreign to Louise's ears as she, her summoner, and the maid Siesta walked through the halls of the castle towards the exit leading to Vestri Court, with Siesta following the two mages from a few steps behind them, something of a respectful distance.

As for Louise, the pink supervisor had been holding in her thoughts from a while now, and she who was called the Zero was now visibly trembling.

"Louise, I—" Illyasviel started to say, but was cut off by the pinkette.

"Illya, are you really going to fight her?" Louise asked anxiously, looking about warily. "Because we could talk to Montmorency right now, you know…"

"And what would that accomplish, _Master?_" Illyasviel asked blandly, more curious at Louise's reasoning than insulted by her suggestion. She would not assume the worst of her summoner so quickly, not when all things considered, Miss Vallière had been a rather good sport about all of this... and had held her tongue until now.

"I want you to give Montmorency a chance to apologize," Louise forced out, grudgingly. Quite honestly, she wanted to see the blonde beaten savagely into the ground, so that the haughty attitude and veneer of self-righteousness that the other wore might be erased from the world, but she knew that such things would not help in the long run. "Wouldn't it be better if she just admitted she was wrong and that you were right?"

It was a rather circuitous way of saying she did not want Montmorency to die, but she didn't want to be so crass as to be blunt about her wishes.

"Hm…" Illyasviel considered Louise's attempt at mercy, raising a pale eyebrow. She turned to Siesta with a half-lidded look and asked, "I don't think she would apologize, but what do you say, Siesta, would you forgive Miss Montmorency for what she did?"

Siesta frowned and looked from Illyasviel to Louise, trying to puzzle out what to say, fighting between what she wanted and what might be right for some moments.

"Mistress, in all honesty, I would have you utterly humiliate Miss Montmorency," Siesta said quietly, her voice filled with a quiet venom that most would find uncharacteristic of the maid. "I would have you show her how weak she really is, how fragile and limited her understanding of what it means to have a rough life. I would have her see the truth behind her empty delusions that she might learn the true meaning of despair."

Such words, in such a chilling tone, were so unexpected of her that even Illyasviel paused in her walk to stare at Siesta.

"However, if you go too far, your actions could hurt Mistress Louise and yourself more than any short term satisfaction might outweigh," the maid concluded, her tone more normal. "I… I would hate to be parted from you so suddenly."

Siesta's eyes burned as they connected with Illyasviel's glaze.

"Aw," Illyasviel placed a cool hand over Siesta's cheek and muttered, "Your unnecessarily serious face is so…" But the homunculus trailed off, frowning, bringing a finger to her lips in thought. "What would you call going too far?"

"Don't kill her!" Louise interjected, horror-struck by the conversation before her. To talk of these things to casually... it was rather frightening, but then, not any more so than Illya having an elemental spirit at her beck and call. "I mean... try not to hurt her... too badly."

The pinkette nearly cursed herself for her lack of self-control, but she didn't want to deal with the social consequences if the girl were to die at her familiar's hands.

"Kill her?" Illyasviel repeated, raised an elegant eyebrow at her summoner, "Now why would I do something like that, master? Is there something you wish to tell me?"

"L-Like I said, i-if she gives up, I want you to accept her defeat," Louise said, in a tone not so different from her mother's commanding voice. Her familiar was smart and strong, so rather than orders, Louise gave her logic and commands, "If you kill or cripple Montmorency, I w-would be the one taking responsibility. That means… I could be e-expelled! Or worse…" Louise thought of what her mother would do to her and shivered.

"Oh, boo, so many rules, rules, and more rules!" Illyasviel groaned, "Can I at least teach her a lesson? That's my only reason for agreeing to this little charade, you know…"

"T-Teach her a lesson?" Siesta squeaked as she blushed, thinking about how some nobles would whip and punish their servants when they wanted to teach them a lesson. Despite the serious mood, Siesta's mind drifted to her Mistress holding a riding crop doing _naughty things_ with Miss Montmorency, seeing the blonde girl cry out in pleasure as the lash was swatted across her ample bottom and—

"Now what are you thinking, maid?" Louise questioned, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the servant. It was enough that she had Illyasviel and Kirche seemingly trying to outdo each other in the quest to become the Academy's biggest pervert. If her new maid was a closet pervert as well then...ah, she'd be plunged into despair. "You… you're thinking of ungraceful, impure thoughts, aren't you, Siesta?"

"Wha-I-Oh-Mistress, I… I was just thinking that perhaps Miss Montmorency deserved a spanking! Erm, I mean," Siesta said, flustered, cutting herself off as she realized what she said.

Louise leaned in, frowning, "A…_ spanking…_? Siesta you…"

"Fine," Illya broke in, making one concession to her summoner's demands. "I won't kill Montmorency."

The pinkette sighed in relief, tension bleeding out of her as—

"After all, there are fates far worse than death."

Illya's smile this time was chilling, reminding Louise of nothing so much as a wolf about tear open the throat of a half-frozen animal. And as the trio set off in silence once more, all the pinkette could think was a single thought.

_'...Oh Founder. What have I done...?'_

* * *

><p>"Ah, Charon, old friend!" Osmond exclaimed, motioning the wizened water mage over to the steaming cups that had been set out by his secretary, Miss Longueville, shortly before their scheduled appointment. "Come in, have some tea! It's the special blend from Rub'al Khali that I've been saving for a special occasion."<p>

Styx the Ghastly River, known to his closer associates as Charon, quickly sat down in one of the padded chairs, his bones creaking with relief as he set aside his walking stick. He wasn't nearly as spry as he had once been, when he and Osmond had been powerful mages carrying out missions for Crown and Country, but that was to be expected. After a certain age, one would begin to degrade both physically and in terms of magical capacity, though with enough willpower, one could nudge a greater portion of the decay towards one side or another.

As the Ghastly River, he had opted to preserve his thaumaturgical might, since he could keep himself alive through healing spells and reagents, but there was no way to restore lost magical ability.

He eyed the cup set before him suspiciously for a moment, before slowly, painstakingly slowly, lifting it to his lips, tasting the liquid within—and breaking out in a sputtering cough, the tea dashed to the ground as he clutched his chest, hacking and wheezing. Still, the gaunt man at least managed to take a rag from his pocket to cough into, with bloody sputum even more apparent.

It took several minutes for this latest fit to subside.

"My apologies, Osmond," Styx rasped, grimacing as he looked towards the door. "I fear… my poor health is catching up to me at last. I can… no longer manage… a flight of stairs… without effort."

A deep, shuddering breath.

Another.

"Why have you called me up here, Osmond?"

"You haven't visited me once since you got back from Gallia three months ago," the old Headmaster complained, squinting at the almost skeletal man seated before him. "That hurts, old friend," he added, wiping away an imaginary tear in mock sadness, though in all his theatrics, he did think to pour another cup of tea.

Styx frowned, but accepted it anyway.

"You know I've not been well, Os," the water mage replied as he sipped his tea slowly, holding the liquid in his mouth before swallowing painfully. "Moving back to the Academy from Gallia took great effort, and I've yet to locate the rest of my baggage. I fear some of it was lost during the recent… unrest in that kingdom. The world is not very safe these days, and there is no country for old men."

"There never is and never was," Osmond noted sadly, thinking back to other times of war and strife, and how each age had its own complications and worries. "But at least these are days of peace. For now."

Styx paused, mulling over the statement in his mind. After a few long seconds, he nodded.

"Yes, things are relatively peaceful," he agreed. "For now. But everything in life is only for now."

For some time after that, the two simply sat in silence, sipping on their tea. Well, silence in that no one was talking, as it was interspersed with the water mage's fits of coughing and wheezing as if his lungs would collapse at any moment. Still, in the spaces between fits, a few snatches of conversation were exchanged.

"Hm, I have not had your brew in a while," Styx commented, peering oddly at the golden liquid in the cup. "It is as good as always… ack… even if it burns more than tea should."

Osmond smirked at the comment, gesturing to one of the drawers of his desk.

"Well, you know, old friend, I always add a little… something extra, during working hours," the old man noted with a bit of amusement. "It's one of the few things that secretary hasn't managed to stop me from doing yet. This time I added something… a bit stiff. For medicinal purposes, mind you."

For a moment, it seemed as if the old healer were about to laugh, but the Ghastly River choked it down, fearing it might prompt yet another cough.

"I see," Styx replied, shaking his head. "You haven't changed then. You were always one to indulge in women, wine, and the weeds." His eyes clouded over as if looking back into the past for a bit, as an odd grimace stole across his lips. "Which reminds me! There was an odd student in my class today."

"Oh? Was it that potions girl… Montmorency… again?" Osmond inquired, creases appearing on his forehead as he concentrated, trying to recall the students of the Academy.

"No, the Vallière girl," the water mage corrected, frowning. "She twisted the healing spell in such a way that the rabbit she was working on _exploded_. Normally, one would simply fail to heal the creature, or exacerbate its wounds from a failed healing. For the specimen to explode… that would seem almost deliberate, save that the girl was rather… upset."

Osmond frowned and stroked his beard. He muttered, "The Vallière girl… Vallière… Ah, the Duke's third!" He paused, not sure quite how to speak his point delicately, "Ah, she is an… interesting case."

"Oh?"

"While she excels at magical theory, in practice she is… less than promising," Osmond supplied, thinking back to some of the things he'd heard in confidence. "She has become rather notorious among the first year teachers for causing… explosions, usually of a scale large enough to destroy the classroom and knock out the instructor."

"…is that why you asked me to return? To see if I could diagnose the problem with my medical skills?" Styx rasped slowly, paper thin skin crackling like dry leaves. "I take it you have ruled out something as trivial as overloading the spells?"

"I may not have your mind, but I am no fool, Charon," Osmond said reprovingly, cutting the man off with a wave of his hand. "With spells as coarse as those being taught, overloading shouldn't be an issue. It is only later, when we come to more… complex techniques… that one has to be careful."

"A point," Charon nodded, "One can hardly overload a basic _Fireball _or _Shocking Grasp_, eh?" the old water mage conceded, though a slow smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth a moment later. "Unlike a certain earth mage who tried to transmute a certain part of his anatomy from flesh to s—"

This time, it was _Osmond_ who broke into a (feigned) coughing fit, as he didn't want to hear Styx bring up that embarrassing incident from his youth. It wasn't his fault he'd become a little too _excited_, and in overcharging the spell, nearly turned himself into a (non-living) statue…

"Heh, still sensitive about that I see," Styx noted, a dry chuckle like the grinding of old gears and twisting metal echoing in the room. "But back on… the topic, we _are_ talking about the daughter of the Duke de la Vallière, distant cousin to the Princess Henrietta, right?"

"Indeed," Old Osmond confirmed wryly. "You know that I keep my eyes open when it comes to important pieces in political game, even if I don't make a spectacle of it. I _do_ serve at the pleasure of the palace, and what royals give, they can take away." He sighed as he set down his tea and laughed. "So tell me, what exactly happened?"

"I began the class in water magic as I'd done in the years before I went into virtual retirement as the attending healer to the Duchess d'Orléans—"

"…you mean, the mother of…?"

"…yes, _her_ mother, the one who was afflicted by an elven potion that scrambled the faculties," the water mage confirmed, shaking his head. "Even with all my experience, I can do little but to keep her alive and keep her body from degrading from a lack of physical activity."

"You'd know best about the decay of the body, wouldn't you?"

"Heh, at least I still possess more of the magic I wielded in my prime than you," rasped the one called the Ghastly River. "In any case, I began the class… with a demonstration of the most basic flesh knitting spell, after which I looked for a volunteer. Seeing none, I thought that the short girl held promise, since the younger ones are usually the family 'prodigies', and the Vallières have always been talented, though I don't think there's been a water mage in that family before."

Osmond nodded along as Styx explained, half listening to the water mage and half thinking about how to next peek up Miss Longueville's skirt, wondering if she'd gone with white cotton panties, or perhaps black silk lace…

"…and then, the rabbit exploded!"

'_Eh? What…?'_

"…wait, what?" Osmond said, somewhat confused by this sudden jump in events. "Did you perhaps skip a step or two somewhere in the story, Charon?"

"Ah, unlike you, old friend, age has come after my body, not my mind…" Styx replied, glancing towards the door. "Let me guess, you were thinking about that secretary of yours?"

The air was filled with another of Osmond's pretend coughing fits, but being a trained healer, Styx wasn't fooled.

"Ack… do you really think… I am that easily tricked?" the Ghastly River asked mildly, the grating laugh issuing from his lips again. "You were always poor when it came to deception…"

Before Osmond could reply to that remark, the door was thrown open with a slam, and a frenzied fire mage rushed inside.

"Old Osmond!" Professor Jean Colbert exclaimed as he entered, passing an apologetic and bowing Miss Longueville. He had an old tome in his hands that the Headmaster recognized with a start as a description of Brimir's familiars. _'But why…' _"Professor, the rune on Miss Vallière's familiar! I—It, I… Ah…" He flustered as he noticed that Professor Styx was in the room too and stopped his babbling.

"That book," Styx rasped, his dark eyes alighting on the cover. "_The Familiars of the Founder Brimir. _What an… _interesting_ work, Mister, err... what was your name again?"

"And you say it's _my_ mind going, Charon?" Osmond ribbed good-naturedly. "Why, his name was…" But the old man trailed off, realizing that _he_ couldn't remember either. Why did he have to deal with all this again? Ah, right, because he had thought that being a headmaster would be an easy way to spend his twilight years

Colbert nearly palmed his face at this, but kept his composure, as he knew that ranting at his employer probably wouldn't accomplish anything useful.

"It's Colbert," the bald man interjected tersely. "Jean Colbert, who oversaw the familiar summoning?"

"Ah, _now _I remember," Osmond said, nodding to himself as he hastily made up an explanation. "What is it about the runes and the book that I need to be concerned about?"

Wordlessly, Colbert flipped the book open to the relevant page, which had been marked with a sheet of paper on which was a sketch of Illya's forehead.

The moment he saw this, Osmond's expression changed from gentle levity to complete solemnity, his eyes growing serious.

"Miss Longueville, would you please excuse us?" he said brusquely, as the green-haired secretary nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. The headmaster didn't speak again until he confirmed she was gone. "Now, explain this to me in every detail, Mister Colbert. And if you are concerned about Professor Styx, my old colleague has my complete confidence."

"Ah, very well then," Professor Colbert acknowledged, adjusting his glasses and tidying up his robes before reporting. "When Miss Vallière summoned her familiar, I found it quite odd that she might have summoned a commoner in rags, so I used a _Detect Magic_ spell, only to find that the familiar was quite magically potent."

"Oh?"

"Yes, but despite this, she managed to bind the girl as her familiar with _Contract Servant_, with odd runes appearing on the familiar's forehead," Colbert relayed, explaining the background of the case. "While a human summoning is unheard of, I thought the runes looked familiar, so I went to the library to find out more. What I found…"

"Spit it out, good man," Styx laughed heartily, before coughing like a man on his deathbed during a plague. The sound of phlegm and blood clearing Styx's throat echoed in the room.

"…were the runes of Myozthirirn, the Mind of God?" Osmond supplied in the uneasy silence.

"Yes. The runes on her forehead were exactly the same as those inscribed on the legendary familiar Myozthirirn," Colbert confirmed paused for a moment to catch his breath, his eyes unnaturally bright. "The one who was said to have the crystallization of all knowledge."

Old Osmond stroked his beard before he uttered, "Myozthirirn, the Mind of God. How _fascinating_…"

"Y-Yes, Professor," Professor Colbert adjusted his glasses again. He seemed like an excited child in the center of a candy store, "If this is true, then Miss Vallière, who has recently been unsuccessful at her attempts of casting, has summoned something, er, someone, extraordinary…"

Labored breathing filled the air, as Professor Styx rose to his feet uneasily, his ivory walking stick helping to bear some of his weight.

"Yes, that is truly a fascinating finding," the water mage affirmed, grimacing as his bones creaked under the strain. "However, I find that I must retire, for I am not as young as I used to be." His statement was punctuated by the sound of coughing as he hacked up black blood and thick green phlegm. When he wiped his lips against his sleeve, Osmond saw a distinctive shade of red on his friend's robes.

"I share that feeling, Charon," Osmond added. He was not as well versed in the healing arts as his friend, so he could say nothing else, not really.

"B-But, Professor!" Colbert gasped, shocked to see that Styx would simply leave, when the ramifications of this discovery. "This could be the discovery of a lifetime! Many lifetimes! This could even mean a change in our stagnating culture—"

"That's quite enough, thank you Jean," Osmond noted, trying to curb the flame mage's enthusiasm just a tad. "Certainly the runes are the same, but it is still too early to be making definite cl—"

There was a rapping on the door as Styx shuffled out, with Miss Longueville taking the opportunity to poke her head into the room.

"Excuse me, Professors? There's been a situation with some of the students…"

Osmond cursed his position, he really did. Sure, there were attractive young girls attending the Academy, but sitting up in his office, he never got to interact with any on a more intimate level– that and his secretary was physically abusive (though he secretly enjoyed her beatings, as a closet masochist).

"What is it now, Miss Longueville?"

"It seems there are some students dueling in Vestri Court," the secretary supplied helpfully. "The teachers are requesting authorization to use the Bell of Sleep to stop the duel."

"For heaven's sake, there's nothing worse than nobles with too much free time in their hands," the headmaster groused. This would turn into another headache, and worse, would probably produce paperwork if someone were injured or killed. "So, who is involved _this_ time?"

"One of them is Montmorency Margarita la Fère de Montmorency."

"Ah, the talented water mage, said to be something of a healer, if also something of a hellion," Osmond noted, having a good memory for attractive young girls. "I'm surprised she started a duel, with her prissy attitude. And her opponent is?"

"...Well, it's not one of our students," Miss Longueville replied, tilting her head as if listening to something. "I'm told it is Miss Vallière's familiar she's dueling."

Osmond and Colbert exchanged a look.

"Oh, there's no need to use such an important artifact just to stop a children's fight. Leave them be," Osmond related, thinking that this would be an excellent opportunity to see the familiar's true power. "Let them get this out of their systems, and solve their conflicts on their own."

"Understood," the secretary acknowledged with a razor thin smile as she left, her footsteps disappearing down the hallway.

Hearing the Headmaster's decision, Colbert swallowed audibly.

"Old Osmond, surely you don't think that…"

"…Colbert, this is an excellent opportunity to see if what you say is true," the old man admonished. "After all, we do what we must because we can."

Sir Osmond waved his staff and a big mirror set in the wall began scrying the situation at Vestri Courts.

* * *

><p>There was already a sizable crowd of students in the courtyard by the time Illyasviel von Einzbern, the challenged party, arrived with her summoner and the maid on whose behalf she was fighting. Crimson eyes stared out into the milling mob, seeking out the one that had dared to offer insult and injury to her, quickly finding the figure of Montmorency Margarita la Fère de Montmorency standing in the center of a great circle. Oddly enough, the blonde looked quite drawn and pale, as if she'd learned of something devastating to her sense of reality…<p>

'Ah, how delicious…'

Illya was quite a believer in schadenfreude, finding happiness in the misfortune of others—especially if those others had angered her in the past. And with Montmorency looking visibly disturbed and off balance, like she hadn't slept in days, the snow-haired girl thought that this encounter would be… fun.

'Well, I won't kill her, but compared to all I can do, death would be a mercy…' The homunculus' gaze darted hither and fro, seeking out the others she knew would surely be there at a scene of such… entertainment. Wherever she looked, Academy students would scatter, backing away and looking anywhere but directly at her, as if they feared to cause her offense. All save two, that is: a busty redheaded Germanian and a petite blue-haired Gallian – Kirche and Tabitha, who came over on catching sight of her, with Kirche who dragging along a seemingly apathetic Tabitha. Notably, though, the blunette did not have a book with her, as if she were curious about the demonstration about to take place.

"Ah, Illya… and Louise, of course," Kirche greeted as she ground to a halt in front of the group, "What's this about a duel, mine countrywoman?"

Illyasviel gave a shallow curtsy and smiled at the two standing before her, two who she had decided she would rather have alive than dead. It wasn't quite friendship, but finding people amusing was about as much as one could hope for from her for now.

"Apparently, Montmorency wishes for a lesson in the true power of magic, and so I must oblige," Illyasviel said sweetly, as her eyes reflected the bloody light of the setting sun. "After all, it wouldn't do to refuse her… request."

Some of the students around them were muttering quite loudly, and with her reinforced hearing, Illyasviel could hear them wondering about who _she _was and where she had come from. Others, the more despicable ones of the bunch, were actually gambling on the outcome of this duel, or rather, exactly how badly Illyasviel would defeat Montmorency.

'_Well, they have the right idea… it _is_ a game, but admission is hardly free…'_

The homunculus allowed a small frown to crease and mar her pale visage.

No, she would not allow them to simply derive amusement from her mastery of the arcane arts. If they wished for a show, a show they would get, but one that would teach them the folly of thinking she existed for their entertainment. For she was a magus, an existence who had walked with death since the moment she first opened her Circuits—and she would show these fools who had no idea of what it meant to wield power exactly why they should give her respect.

"Master," she murmured under her breath, pitching her voice low enough that only those immediately next to her would hear, even as she took Louise's wand from her and let the falcon soar into the sky. "Please take your friends and stand back from the crowd a little ways, if you please."

Seeing the merciless expression in Illya's eyes, Louise scrambled to obey, her desire to survive what was to come overwhelming noble pride as she grabbed the others and moved _insistently_ away from the immediate area.

'Good… and now that that is taken care of…'

With that, Illya stalked towards her quarry, watching as the others stumbled or spilled out of her way like small fish swimming frantically away from a shark, allowing her easy access to the one that she sought. Whether it was because of her stature, her grim visage, or the killing intent leaking from every inch of her body was another matter entirely.

"Good afternoon, all of you." The voice of the snow fairy echoed throughout the courtyard, amplified by just a tinge of her power, "And to you, Montmorency Margarita la Fère de Montmorency, my challenger this day."

The blonde in question stiffened, but did not flee, merely looking at the homunculus with an expression of mingled fear, disgust, jealousy, and hate, her features distorted to a caricature of their usual state by the emotions raging in her breast.

"You have gravely offended me," Illya spoke, calling forth her upbringing as a noble for full effect, as killing intent thick and monstrous as a living curse, focused its full weight on the water mage, "Striking my person without provocation, harming a servant in my employ, daring to slander me, and then challenging me, as if you were the wronged party."

"I… that's a lie… you barbaric slut! You and that maid… acting out your unnatural perversions… setting your sights on Guiche… you servant of Zero." Montmorency sputtered, her face red.

A beatific smile blossomed on Illya's expression as she heard these insults, seemingly _pleased_ that the blonde had spoken so.

"I see. Well, Miss Vallière did want me to give you a chance to apologize, but you're not going to, are you?"

A defiant glare was all the homunculus received in reply, as Montmorency readied her wand.

"_Good. Then let us begin…"_

At these words, Montmorency began to chant, but the words died on her lips as a surge of power erupted from the homunculus, the rune on her forehead blazing bright in the fading daylight. Torrents of prana, unlimited prana, bubbled and welled up from sources Illya was unfamiliar with as it swirled in her, concentrating until she nearly glowed with molten power.

'Such power… impossible…'

Many of the audience members began to back away, if not outright try to flee in terror the snow-haired girl's terrible wrath, but they found themselves frozen by her crimson gaze. They had scarce believed that the Zero's familiar might be a square mage before… but they did now, as the fullness of her unrestrained might was enough to make some vomit, some plead for mercy, some collapse to their knees in utter fear and despair.

"Now, now… you wanted to watch, right?" Illyasviel's dark whisper echoed in the minds of all present. "So… watch to the end."

"You…" Montmorency's mind was blank, her prepared speech missing as the blood drained from her face. This…this couldn't be happening. The Zero's familiar was supposed to be a mere commoner, not some monster of a mage who was beyond her as she was beyond commoners.

'This… this is impossible!'

"What's wrong, Miss Rude Girl? Do you not want to strike the first blow? Or are you unsure of how to follow the proper etiquette?" Illyasviel questioned sweetly, stalking towards her hapless prey, cruel words dripping her lips with a honeyed tone. "You should know it is good manners to _bow_ in a duel, right?"

At the words 'bow', Montmorency felt her body creak unnaturally, as dozens of golden threads lanced towards her from the very ground itself, binding her arms, and legs as they pulled her down, the bones of her spine folding, her skin being torn open by the sudden attack with a cry of agony.

All her strength could not help her to resist.

Forced to bow… and then, worse, forced to her knees by the power of the girl before her _against her will_, the blonde's emotions raged against the silvery haired girl who toyed with her so casually, talking down at her as if she had the right. Anger, hot and welcome, pulsed through her veins, whispering to her of the power they could gain… of the power and respect she would gain if she just _struck down_ the one who dared to humiliate her.

In her utter helplessness, the water mage gave in, adding rage to her willpower, and with a whip of her wand and a roar of her aria, launched a flurry of frozen needles wrought from her lifeblood at the familiar of Zero, with two jagged lances hidden by the initial onslaught seeking her opponent's heart.

'I'll freeze every drop of blood in her body. I'll send shards of ice racing through each vessel, killing her from within if I can touch…'

But it was not to be.

Neither the needles, nor the lances, struck their mark, as the homunculus merely released a wave of raw magical energy and erased them from existence.

"Fascinating," Illyasviel muttered, raising an eyebrow and revising her estimation of Montmorency's abilities up a notch. She hadn't expected these nobles to know of blood magic, even if the blonde didn't seem to be using it consciously. "Do you have any other little tricks to show me? Or are you ready to admit defeat? If you become my servant, bound to my will, I might just spare your life…"

From Montmorency's throat issued a roar of pain and indignity as she continued her onslaught, reaching further, further, further than she ever had before, as hundreds of tiny flechettes sought the snow-fairy's unguarded skin from all directions. Whatever the magic that girl had used to defend herself before, there was no way she could ward off an omnidirectional attack!

Whump!

…but Illya did, as a second pulse of raw prana was released from every pore in her body, and the flechettes of frozen blood simply vanished, consumed by molten light as the girl advanced… _smiling._

'No. No way. This is impossible. She can't be a mage. She has to be a creature of some kind, a demon or an elf. There's no way a little girl could learn such magic…'

The creature in front of her was undoubtedly a murderous beast, and Montmorency _had _to defeat her, _would _defeat her if it was the last thing she did. Closer the enemy came, closer, closer, closer still, as the water mage mumbled under her breath, desperately trying to weave a spell she had only heard of, a technique that would ensure that her foe would die, even if it meant she would too.

This would be the first and the only time she tried it.

With a thought, five crimson lances materialized, formed of her blood and water condensed from the air, with all five spinning, spinning, spinning faster and faster till they moved in a blur, almost seeming like one great cyclone of blood.

The terrible Germanian spell, created as a curse of blood, a perversion of a healing spell meant to corrupt and kill: _Blut die Schwester._

"_**Die, monster**_!" Montmorency shouted, gritting her teeth as the strain of pouring her power (and blood) into such a fearsome drained her to dangerous levels. She knew she was losing her concentration, that soon she would collapse, so before the spell was fully formed, she let it loose. It would not have the velocity or the power of the spell of an expert, but it would be fatal to be even glanced by the blood shards.

'_It will be enough. No. It __**has to **__be enough!'_

Illyasviel had only half a second, barely enough time to blink, before the spell would rip her apart faster and more thoroughly than even the golden King of Heroes had done. But she was well trained, and simply slammed her hand forward, discharging more than enough power to erase this spell as well.

The sound of a musical note.

And then the world was shattered by a pure, white light, erasing sight and sound, smell and color and feel, washing over the whole of Vestri Court as the curse was simply washed away by a superior power.

For a moment, all Montmorency knew was utter pain, before sensation returned seconds later. Hoping that she had the willpower left for a spell, any spell, the water mage tried to lift her wand, only to find that she could not.

For the wand was not there. It (and the arm that had held it) was simply _gone,_ cut off at the shoulder by the conflagration of light that had blocked her lethal spell.

She looked bewildered at the empty space where her arm had been, the golden threads binding her, and then at the silvery-haired monster striding towards her. Had… had she somehow used more than one element? Rational thought fled, and Montmorency would have run away, far away, save that she could not move, bound up in golden threads and paralyzed as she was by the glowing red eyes of the demon before her, watched by similarly helpless peers.

**No.**

"Ah, that would have been lethal, wouldn't it?" Illyasviel asked quietly, her smile a terrible thing that reminded her of a predator about to kill its prey. "It certainly looked lethal, and it had quite a bit of power in it. A blood curse… mou, that wasn't very nice. But then, you're not a nice person, are you?" The homunculus laughed, a fey sound of bells that was quite at odds with the scene of terror she had created. "I don't think you should be allowed to wield a wand like that if you are going to attack me when I want to help you, Miss Monmon…"

The snow fairy gazed into Montmorency's fearful, trembling eyes, and before the blond noble could even blink, she felt what little true control she had over her body slip away, giving way for something foreign to take hold.

"Well, now that you've stopped throwing your tantrum, I suppose it's time to teach you your lesson," the homunculus intoned, pursed her lips and tapped her chin with a tiny, well-manicured finger. "Now, how shall I do this? You wished to punish me and show me how powerful you were when you thought I was a commoner, right? You wished to harm my maid and show me just how weak I was? Well then, I'll just do unto you as you have done onto me. Doesn't that seem… fair?"

With an utterly chilling smile on her face, Illyasviel skipped over to Montmorency's frozen form and ran a hand through the blonde's golden locks, scorched and bloody as they were. "My, what beautiful hair you have… but I don't think you'll need it any longer."

With a tug, a clump of Montmorency's gleaming hair was ripped from her scalp, falling to the ground. She wanted to scream, but something was holding her mouth shut. Only a whimper escaped her throat, unable to muster the strength to escape her tightly shut lips.

"But of course, I'm a magus, right?" Illyasviel inquired cruelly, "And pulling and tugging would be too much work for a _noble, _right? I wouldn't want to roughen my hands when dealing with trash like you." Without waiting for a response, a surge of prana came forth and immolated the rest of Montmorency's prized hair, leaving her scalp red and burnt—save for where one clump had been ripped out earlier. "Now then, what else did you say about me?"

After a moment, Illyasviel snapped her fingers. She smiled gently at Montmorency, "Ah, that's right! You said I was pretending to have power, right? That I and Miss Vallière would suffer the consequences? And you insulted my automaton too… though since you asked, I won't use him to hurt you _this time. _Instead, you should be honored. I'll show you a little sample of what I've endured…"

The snow fairy leaned forward, pressing her hand to the side of the blonde's head as she drew forth every scrap of pain she had ever suffered in her life, distilling thousands of memories of violations, deaths, training, torture and more into pure essence of agony—which she channeled directly into Montmorency's mind-

"…_**remember."**_

-An unearthly scream of terror and pain, curdling the blood of all who heard-

-Phantom pain, without cause, without a way to be cured-

-Pain racing through every nerve, hijacking every thought, pushing everything else aside, as she was forced to remain conscious, to experience _nearly twenty years_ of torture in the span of a single moment without flinching, without looking away, without moving.

Her only release—the only mercy granted to her- was that she might scream…

…And scream she did-

-Screams of many pitches and intensities-

-Screams of pain, screams of despair, screams pleading for it all to stop, screams of rage, screams of terror in response to sheer, undiluted agony!

She didn't know how much time passed. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? All she knew was that at last, the screaming stopped, as her voice grew hoarse and disappeared entirely, and the white expanse of pain was replaced once more with the smirking face of her assailant.

"Ah, but this won't do, you're too injured," the white-haired girl intoned, giggling cutely. "Oh, I know… perhaps I should get my Master to heal you all up? Just like she did for that poor, poor rabbit…"

Another deluge of memories and pain… and at last, the blonde was allowed to slip away into catatonia, her eyes wide but unseeing, though her heart continued to beat.

She had become like a living doll.

* * *

><p>Professor Jean Colbert pulled out a napkin and wiped away a thin sheen of sweat that grew on his head as he dropped from window of the headmaster's office, controlling the rate of his descent with levitation. He touched down quickly and broke into a run, making for Vestri Court as fast as he could.<p>

It wasn't that he was out of shape, far from it (well, perhaps compared to his earlier days, but he was still far more fit than most). However, the thoughts of one of his students _crippled_ or even _dead_ were enough to grip his heart with fear.

He must… no, he needed… to save his students!

Most seemed alright, in the way they fled in terror from Vestri Court, eyes wide with horror as they raced away as if their lives depended on it, but when he arrived, he saw exactly what he feared, with the form of Montmorency Margarita la Fère de Montmorency laying unmoving on the ground, with the familiar of Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière looming over her, with both… utterly _uninjured?_

'What? But I saw just what was done to the Montmorency girl… how could they be uninjured after that?'

Still, from his training and ample experience with dead bodies, Colbert could tell that the blonde was simply unconscious, without a trace of the terrible injuries she had sustained earlier. Even the arm was now reattached, and the skin was unmarred…

Around the two, four girls were gathered – three of them quite pale from whatever they had witnessed, though the last merely seemed intrigued. Then again, the girl who called herself Tabitha was anything but normal herself, so he supposed he couldn't expect her to react as others did.

"Miss Vallière, Miss Zerbst and Miss Tabitha," Professor Colbert acknowledged, turning to those of his students present. For the moment, he ignored the whimpering maid, with the blunt of his awareness on the silver-haired familiar who stood a short ways away from him, looking on curiously. "I would like to ask what happened here."

There were no words, as no one was apparently willing to volunteer information openly.

'But if the students don't know, then…'

"Explain, familiar of Miss Vallière," the Flame Snake commanded, falling back into the patterns he had thought he had tossed away long ago. "What happened, and why?"

"Ah, Professor Baldy," the familiar replied, nodding at him irreverently, though that was the last thing he was worried about at the moment. She seemed so innocent and carefree now, and even his instincts could not immediately tell what her intentions were. Which was of a sort with his confusion, given that despite the images he had seen through the scrying, what he was seeing now seemed to contradict that. "The Rude Girl asked for a lesson in what it means to be a magus, so I gave her one."

"A… lesson?" Colbert asked, slightly bewildered by the strange response. A lesson would not…

"What my familiar means, Professor Colbert, is that Miss Montmorency challenged my familiar to a duel," Louise de La Vallière cut in quickly, albeit shakily, before any confusion could result. She could not, would not, allow her familiar be taken away, not when that familiar was the proof of her magic. "S-she… defeated Montmorency quite soundly, showing her how her arrogance had been a mistake."

And would be the source of more in the future, or so she hoped.

"And… how do you account for the rest of the student body fleeing the scene?" Professor Colbert asked simply, causing the girl to blush.

"I… ah…" Louise struggled for a response, but she found nothing. So she looked helplessly at Illyasviel.

"Perhaps they were not ready to be magi, wielding power, but not understanding its weight and burden," Illyasviel intoned seriously, meeting the Flame Snake's eyes with her own steady gaze. "Will they be as quick to challenge another again, or abuse their powers over others?"

'Well, no but…'

Colbert scratched the back of his head, unsure of what to say. With the girl being the Myozthirirn, and acting under the bounds of a duel, he was technically powerless to intervene – especially since there was no lasting physical injury to Montmorency's body.

"What exactly do you mean, Miss…?" Colbert asked the girl. He was suspicious of her, especially her, inside, but he must at least put up a façade of his own innocent Professor mask.

"They saw the result of rashness and pride," Illya said unblinkingly, her petite body standing with the stature of royalty as she said this. "They saw where such would lead if they were too confident in their own abilities. Or haven't there been cases where some of your students have picked on others because they can?"

"Well… that is true, but… mark this," Professor Colbert hissed softly like a snake to the familiar, turning his voice away from his students. "Since this is a duel that you were challenged to and the other did not yield in, then this is out of my hands. But if you harm innocents…"

"Hmph!" Illyasviel crossed her arms over her chest coldly, a frown on her face. "Innocents this, innocents that!" she muttered. "No one is innocent in this world. To live is to do evil—you should know this to be true, even if you sound like a _hero of justice_! But… I will not act without provocation. That is not the way of a noble."

That was all the concession she would give, as she grabbed her still dazed friends and dragged them away to the castle, leaving Professor Colbert alone save for the comatose body of Miss Montmorency as the sun sank beneath the horizon at last, and the crimson moon rose overhead.

It seemed it would be a long night.

'_A hero of justice?'_

* * *

><p>It was damp and dark and dank, just as he had become comfortable with. He never used to be at ease in the shadows, remembering all the times things had gone wrong, surrounded by a mix of creeping and crawling beings both chitinous and slimily soft, with teeth, fangs, claws and pincers all clicking. Tiny tentacles growing out of their mouths, mouths filled with rows of teeth, as they entered his flesh, crawled into his body, as he drank them in.<p>

The soft sound of dripping water was drowned out by the hundreds of thousands of worms that poured into his body, surrounded as it was by the dark mud of congealed his grudges. His body had been broken long ago, his soul and spirit no better.

He was a slave to his Master.

'…Master, Master, I have found your prey! Oh, Master! With some doubt, I report to you that I know who it is you search for, that she has been hiding right under our noses!'

No, Master, no! I am but an extension of your will. My spirit is broken, and my soul is yours, there is nothing left of my original self! Please Master, I am still useful… I can do it without alerting anyone unnecessary, without anyone being the wiser!

Oh Master… I trudge in this black slime of oblivion for you, walking into the abyss, never turning back for you… so Master, spare me! Spare me! Spare me! Don't kill—kkkk!'

**Kill!**

**Kill! Kill! Kill!**

—Master! Ah! Ahhh! ! Ma—ssssss… I understand.

I understand.

**Kill.** **Ki**—_no! Master, we can do it differently! Without the armies to come! Without alerting them of the dangers, please!_

_I am yours and only yours, so trust me my Master… I will do more than kill for you!_

**Kill! Kill! Kill!**

**Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! **Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! ****Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!******  
><strong>

Yes… yess! I will kill, but I cannot yet! Master please, do not… argh…

The man's spine was slowly being crushed, ground down to the dust of ages. He was but a shell of his former self, a shadow of all that he had been. And he accepted that, accepted the thousand slings arrows, and violations that awaited in his eternal servitude to, accepted the curse that seeped into his body and the crawling things that granted him power even as they chipped away at his life.

A _whoosh... _The light in the room was restored once more. A man coughed and hacked, his hands against the ground, as he fought for a breath.

Blood poured from his nose, from his eyes, from his mouth as he choked and fell, unable to even support his own weight. All around, sinuous shapes burrowed into his body, digging as he lay in a pool of his own blood, bile and sweat. Bloody tears streaked from the corners of his eyes down his wrinkled face.

"I… I exist for you…" He coughed out to some imaginary being. He looked into the blue lights that dimly lit his room, deep in the dungeons. After a moment, he gathered himself raised himself to a kneeling position in the direction of the light, the symbol of his imaginary master so far away. He did not look up, for in his mind, he knows he was being watched, being blessed by the sight of his…!

He was dying. He _was _dying. Now, those parts of his body that had been so inefficient as to fail were being consumed, replaced by the muddy nightmares that used to inhabit his body. His liver, his nerves, his kidneys, his thoughts…all was consumed, as his body became cloaked by darkness, the bubbling sludge forming a dark, hardened cuirass around his form. His breathing stabilized as a black mask of shadow sunk deep into his skin, so that he appeared for all the world as the wrinkled _helpless _old man once more.

For a little longer he would keep his façade a little longer, and then his full fury would be unleashed.

He took a deep breath, his breathing raspy and mechanical as he looked towards the light for the first time.

"What is thy bidding, my Master?"

* * *

><p>…<em>Once more she was surrounded by snow, an alien melody echoing all around, one that permeated through her pores, her bones, her thoughts. She moved without conscious thought, without direction, her feet driving her forward of their own accord, until at last she saw the Winter Saint once more. <em>

_Her silky, silver hair was draped over her body like a soft curtain, billowing even though there was no wind. Her dress of white-gold and red blended with and stood out from everything around her, as she seemed to glow with an inner light. She was not looking at Louise, and for that, Louise was thankful. _

_Instead, she hummed a tune, so very like the one Louise could hear, if only she could strain her ears just a little more. She knew the tune though; it was the one that Ilya had been humming earlier that night._

"Oh? You're back again, are you?"_ The winter spirit—for she could be nothing else—looked up and blinked innocently at Louise. _"Perhaps it is best then, that you know what you are getting into, little one."

_While the Winter Saint's words were gentle, her tone was cold. Louise never felt like this before, to be talked down to, to feel like she was truly worth nothing in someone's eyes. She shivered, even though the snow was but an illusion. This all has to be an illusion, right? A mere dream, this delusion must be!_

"Come then,"_ The silvery white figure motioned to Louise, holding out a hand for her to grasp_. "Come and experience a little of what it means to—"_ Whatever else she was going to say was cut off._

_Louise did not dream. She saw. She saw only sweet nightmares._

_She saw a girl, so tiny and cute, watching as her parents fought a war of blood and fire. Her mother was first to go, disappearing into the night, taken by a knight who had already lost his honor. She saw, she saw, she saw, unable to close her eyes._

_All the while, the soft music played. Yet even still, Louise could not hear it._

_Louise then saw the father, with a staff of thunder, charging into the war. He slew, he tricked, and he stole and he won. But Louise only saw the blood on his hands, as innocent and guilty alike were killed for the greater good. Kill one to save ten. Kill ten to save a hundred._

_She saw their servant, a mighty spirit of ages, standing tall and radiant as a queen. A King of Knights, a voice told her, akin to Ilya's Archer. Blood and fire filled the humongous city of steel and glass as this and another figure clashed, a golden sword of promised victory slamming against a whirlpool of crimson death. Louise could not look away, even though her eyes were filled with tears from the mere heat._

_And the music still played, the aria of memories beautiful and terrible all at once._

_She dreamt of snow once more. But this white powder was gray and black. It was tainted by sadness, anger and fear. She saw an elder whose commanding presence made even her kneel. It was but a dream, she kept telling herself. However she fought, it was all pointless but to heed his call. Then Louise realized that she was Illyasviel. She was tutored and tortured by the one she called grandfather, taught the arts of death, of hope, of pain and despair._

_Even as the tutors whipped Ilya's back, Louise could still feel the hum of the music. Even as the grandfather scolded and sculpted, Louise would still cry out in pain. The blood that poured from her was only a dream, but it was enough to make her body recoil with phantom pain.._

_Yet still the snow fell. And Louise dreamed of blood and fire, even amongst this winter wonderland._

_She dreamt of experiments, of cuts and stitches. Illyasviel suffered so much, that even Louise could feel the pain now! All the while, the music still played. The saint still sang a song Louise couldn't hear._

_At the end of it all, at the final verse, Louise saw it happen once more. She saw the giant spirit, of steel and of fire, summoned from the heavens or hells, come forth and bow. She saw little Ilya pat the Great Spirit's head. Then she saw… she saw much pain. Ilya suffered much to keep the spirit bound._

_Louise could almost hear the music now. There were many voices singing. Many voices of the Winter Saint joined the chorus…_

_Then she saw the final line…_

_The earthen spirit was bound by iron, bleeding and dying. Ilya stared, her heart already torn, far before it was torn from her body. As Louise felt herself fade, she desperately tried to forget. However much she struggled, her memory was inscribed. Even as she drifted into the blackness of true sleep, she could hear the Winter Saint whisper softly and tenderly, along with a chorus…_

"**…You're strong, Berserker."**

…

…Everything frozen, and then…

…

…Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière awakened with a spine-chilling scream.


	5. The Long Delay

**The Third Magic**

Alfheim Wanderer has, as always, been great help, wonderful editor/writer, and great friend. If it wasn't for Alfheim Wanderer's support, this chapter would not have come into being.

That aside, support of my readers help keep this story alive.

Reason for delay at end of story.

* * *

><p><em>Small hands, the tiny palms of a child, reached forth.<em>

_Before her eyes was her mother, smiling radiantly down at her in what could only be a dream. Happiness, after all, was not her lot, and her mother had died many years hence. _

_How many years had it been since she had last heard her mother's voice? How had her mother sounded? Spoken? Seemed? She could no longer remember._

_She could not even piece together the broken syllables shaped by the dream-mother's mouth._

_Around her, the world was shrouded in a hazy mist, through which diffused a pale white illumination that blurred everything it touched. Through it, she ran, reaching forward, pushing herself as hard as she dared as she sought to touch the now-quickly receding image of the one who had given birth to her. Faster she ran, and faster still, bare feet pounding against the icy surface of a room of white as she leapt up, hoping to grasp the hem of her mother's feathery gown-only for her to stumble, her fingers closing upon empty air, as the illusory figure disappeared into the light, leaving her utterly alone._

_An odd, muffled sound issued from behind her - almost like hard rubber against wood. _

_With a jolt, she turned, only to freeze at the sight of her father smiling down at her. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he noticed her, looking at her as if to engrave her image in his mind before he, too, left her. She blinked and struggled to stand, to run to him, but the exhaustion of running after her mother still remained. She could not hear what words her father spoke, if any. Neither could she smell the condemned man's last cigarette dangling between his fore and middle fingers. _

_She cried, but was not heard, as the man simply turned around, and began to walk away._

_She cried out, screaming at the top of her lungs, letting her tears fall freely - and yet her pleas, her shrieks, fell upon deaf ears as the other continued on unflinchingly, each step determined and carefully deliberate._

_Why? Why was this happening? _

_She had no time to question, just enough time to follow._

_So she ran once more, breathing ragged and hands outstretched, trying to join her father, to catch up to his receding back. She only wanted to stay beside him, to not be alone._

_Was that really so much to ask?_

_But his clipped, efficient strides were too fast, his steps too wide. The distance increased, and not once did he look back to her._

_Desperate to not be abandoned, she flung herself forward, reaching to grab her father's ankles, thinking that perhaps her feeble strength would be enough to slow him down, to make him reconsider. Yet once more, she missed, her fingers failing to seize even the tails of her father's trailing coat._

_And then she was alone again, surrounded the endless expanse of an empty world, where nothing existed. Not air, not color, not even any hint of life or human presence._

_A growl like rolling thunder reached her ear, and once more the girl staggered to her feet, whirling about to confront the source of the sound. Yet she stopped herself in mid motion, not wanting to turn around fully, lest she be disappointed once again. Since hope was the best spice to bring out despair - perhaps it was better not to hope for anything to begin with, so she could never be betrayed._

_Yes. She would become like the snow - become a maiden of ice who felt nothing at all. No happiness, no grief, no pleasure...and no pain. She would become a snow angel, accepting everything._

_**GUAUUUUHHHHOOO!**_

_But her resolve did not last, as the world of snow trembled before a giant's mindless fury, knocking her off her feet and shaking her to her core. Out of pure instinct, she twisted as she fell, freezing as her eyes fixed upon the majestic form of an adamantine giant-a titan among men who bore strength born of madness._

_She knew his name and that he would not hurt her, but did not dare call out to him, in fear of him leaving her, just as her parents had before her, for the only thing worse than being alone was to gain a taste of someone's company only to be betrayed._

_Again._

_Yet she had been alone in the world of ice too long, and so with a faint voice she called to him, a tremulous whisper that could barely be heard above the sound of falling snow._

_Miracle of miracles, he heard her, eyes the color of blood turning to regard her, the fire reflected within a stark contrast to the frozen world without. He bared his teeth, roaring his defiance to the winds - but though the world trembled, though everything shook before the giant's wrath, not a sound could be heard. _

_Why? Why could she not hear the mighty war-cry of the Berserker, promising destruction to all those who faced him in battle?_

_Why did she hear only an unnatural silence?_

_Her eyes widened as a choked cry died strangled in her throat, and this time, she couldn't even muster the strength to stand, much less raise her hand to touch the adamantine giant before her, lest he disappear as well. But as she watched, he remained._

_He did not run, did not turn, but simply stood before her like the statue of some ancient, indomitable god of war, his presence alone warding away the specters of the past._

_Gingerly, she reached out to her companion, as if to verify that he was real, a weak smile gracing her lips as soft palms made contact with steel-like skin, assuring her that she was not alone._

_But she should not have allowed herself to hope, for the fates would never be so kind._

_A flinch as some hot liquid splashed into her eyes, blinding her momentarily. She wiped it away - only to see her hands stained a bloody red...and the hilt of a gargantuan sword protruding from the chest of the leaden giant._

_Said blade was joined by another, and then another, as improbable volleys of legendary weapons sprang from newly formed rips in the fabric of reality to skewer the man of stone. He in turn lunged forward to deflect them with contemptuous ease, to show why he was considered the strongest of beings, spirit or otherwise-but the moment he moved, his limbs were bound by golden chains._

_He struggled, but struggled in vain, as the more he fought, the tighter the links became, the less he was able to move as a storm of metal raged, tearing the giant apart._

_The girl of snow shouted for all of this to stop, pleaded for her faithful protector to be spared..._

_...but it was for naught, as his form shattered into dust, consumed by the light, leaving her alone._

_Once more, she was alone._

_Her knees felt weak. _

_Her legs gave out and she collapsed into a heap, her lower lip trembling as she tried to hold herself together, but failed, silent tears flowing unbidden from eyes the color of blood._

_Some indeterminate amount of time later, a rough hand rubbed her head softly, stroking her silver hair, its warmth startling in the confines of this frozen world. She looked up in curiosity, seeing that it was her brother, here to wake her from her nightmare._

_He smiled warmly at her, and tentatively, she smiled back, hoping that this time, things would be ok. And for a time it was, as the boy helped her to her feet. The weakness in her body began to fade, iciness replaced with inner warmth that seemed to cure her ills._

_For a moment, she felt whole and strong, and able as she walked beside her brother, following him on his chosen path, accompanying him through his trials. For a moment, she felt the joy of being loved. For a moment, she was (not) alone, as she matched him, pace for pace and stride for stride._

_But it was only for a moment._

_Soon enough, her brother's strides grew longer. His paces grew faster, and he stopped looking at her and stopped smiling. Like a sword passing through a tempering flame, his skin grew tanned and his hair grew white, as if fire was his blood and steel was his body. From casual clothing, his garments turned to black and silver armor, covered with robes the color of blood as his innocence died, and his dreams were ground to dust. _

_She was strong now, more than able to stand up to him. _

_She would bring him back, would make him smile again._

_She would remind him that his ideals had not been in vain, that at the least, _someone_ had been saved and-_

"Is that really what you think?"_ The voice of an Other asked, steeped in bitterness and resentment borne of the pain of her existence. _"You really want more of this, even though everyone you know has abandoned you? Even though you've been betrayed, forgotten, and left utterly alone?"

_She stayed quiet, letting the other speak as she would._

"You are a fool, despite all your power,"_ The Other said coldly, the frosty tone more condemnation than any scream or shriek as a mirror to her being gazed into her. "_You failed in your duty because of your weakness. You destroyed our family because of this, and yet you still have the audacity to dream of the one who led you to drown in your ideals and die? What have you gained? In the end, you have nothing."

_She let the Other run around and get away with a great deal of things. She allowed the other the use of all her knowledge and power, and allowed her to indulge in her desires, yet even now, she felt emotions she had not felt for a long, long time as the Other spat on her dreams. _

_Rejection and rage._

_She would not allow it._

"For that I have lost, at least I had it in the first place!"_ the girl cried out, in answer to the Other's cold rant. "_At least I experienced life, with a real mother and father, who cared for me...who loved me. Tell me, what do _you _have_? _Servants sworn to serve a ruined family? A duty that can never be fulfilled, a futile wish passed down by those who lost their way centuries ago? You had _nothing_!"

"A mother? A father? And what good are those when in the end they betray you?_" The Other spoke with utter dispassion, her words more hurtful than any weapon in this realm of thoughts and broken dreams. _"What good is it to have something if it slips from your hands? All you gain is the memory of loss, the pain of being abandoned time and time again, as humans show how unreliable they are, how easily they betray you. None of them have ever given you anything, except to worsen your pain..."

"...you," _the girl seethed, voice hissing through clenched teeth_. "Don't you dare judge me. Don't you dare."

"_Tch. Believe what you will - you know I am right. Because in the end, you cannot escape the truth. That I am right, and you are wrong..."_

_Frozen by the stare of those crimson eyes, the girl couldn't reply, though she wished fervently to deny her doppelganger's words with all her might._

Fortunately, she was shaken from such thoughts by a hand on her shoulder.

"Miss Archer? Miss Archer, are you alright?" a concerned voice asked. It was the half-elf Tiffania, who was looking at her strangely, noticing that she'd blanked out. "You've been standing there for more than several minutes, Miss Archer. Are your injuries bothering you…?"

A deep, shuddering breath.

"I… I'm fine," the lady Archer said simply, shaking her head and purging her mind of irrelevant musings on the past. "I'm sorry for spacing out, master. Don't worry, I'll be fine. Let's go."

* * *

><p>They stared at her.<p>

They all stared.

Tiffania could feel them, could sense how their eyes followed her, watched her cautiously, bore into her back hatefully. The eyes of the family of the farmer Jeremiah, who had been taught to fear elves for all of their lives. But it was only to be expected, as all humans, save the orphans she had raised, had looked at her that way, as if she was the spawn of a demon.

_'Why should things be any different now?' _she wondered, as she tugged her cowl tighter around her head. _'I'll always be an elf to humans...'_

And humans always stared, always looked at her as if her very existence left a foul taste in their mouths.

An uncomfortable silence had fallen over the band of refugees as they pushed northward, trying to escape the demon-ridden lands from which they had come, to flee the nests of merciless all-devouring shadow-beasts that had already claimed thousands of lives.

None of them were comfortable with each other, or with the _de facto_ leader of their party, in the wake of recent events, given the revelations and truths they had become aware of, and yet they knew that to separate was suicide, so they plodded on uneasily, meter by meter, league by league.

Having lost the mule they'd used to haul their supplies before, the party had converted the wood from their cart into smaller handcarts that they could push or pull at need, though even with these, they could only take a week's worth of food, if rationed.

The boys pushed the carts with their mothers following behind Maria, who was a few paces behind Tiffania.

With her powerful senses, the half-elf could hear the family's hesitant footsteps behind her, following along exactly, as if afraid to get too close or two far away. Each time she paused, the others stopped as well. Every time her head twitched, every time she gave even a hint of turning around, she could hear the hitched breaths of the women and the soft stumbling of the boys, feel the tension in the air as they looked at her in fear.

Her heart ached each time she did turn around to even glance down at Maria, to see that the family would all turn away. They would not meet her eyes, and while they grudgingly accepted the necessity to move as a group, the family only did so for survival - and were careful not to get too close to the elf.

She could not blame them. With Jeremiah's body still warm and barely covered by earth, Tiffania had every reason to hate herself. Thus, the only comfort—the only bits of sanity within her mind—were linked to little Maria - the only one she'd managed to save.

In contrast to the somber mood, emphasized by the aura of gloom in the smoggy sky, Maria hummed a light, offbeat tune that Tiffania had taught her a long time ago. It was one of the first songs that Tiffania's mother had taught her - and seeing Maria so cheerful, even in these times, helped the half-elf keep her sanity. Maria did not bother with the details and she did not over think the reactions of the family.

She did not notice the grim expressions they wore - or if she did, did not let it bother her.

Tiffania envied that innocence, and wished she could not sense the fear of others.

It wasn't right! To have such poor, little children fear her struck a deep scar within her heart, a wound that had yet to mend and still fresh from the nights before where her orphanage was slaughtered.

For a moment, she was tempted to ask if there were any way to make amends, but decided against turning around. As she was born a half-elf, it was her fate to be feared, to be hated.

And so they stared, as she walked gamely on.

* * *

><p>Tiffania's legs began to wobble as she walked, acute dehydration causing her vision to blur and her mind to grow faint, with the world beginning to spin before her eyes. It had been hours since she'd last had the chance to drink anything, as she'd given most of her water ration to Maria when the little girl had complained of a dry throat. That had been around noon - the sun loomed much closer to the ground now, and the hot, fetid air almost seemed...oppressive, malignant in its strangling pressure.<p>

It was especially so for the half-elf, as she normally wore a minimum of clothing, and the thick hooded cloak in which she was currently attired was a far cry from that. It seemed almost to smother her, wrap around her so tightly that she might suffocate.

Maria wasn't much better off - though the little girl had often volunteered for chores and to help out with work, she wasn't used to having to walk for long stretches at a time without adequate water. And even the farm boys from the late Jeremiah's family, who were used to hard labor, looked as if they were about to keel over.

"Um...why don't we take a break for a few minutes?" the half-elf suggested timidly, cringing as the others nearly fell over themselves as they ground to a halt, the momentum of their repetitive motions collapsing upon itself when their limbs ceased moving.

The others had kept going in silence until now, matching the grueling pace set by the odd "Miss Archer" and the one who commanded her, without a word of complaint. For the farmers and others that had been picked up knew that to fall behind (or to be abandoned) meant death at the teeth and claws of demon beasts, and they dared not provoke the mage-knight who protected them or the elf she served.

A classic case of being caught between a rock and a hard place.

So when Tiffania suggested they get off the road for a moment and rest, they were more than happy to comply, almost scrambling for the shade of the trees along the roadside - and slumping against them, trying to find a balance between moving away from the half-elf and remaining within the mysterious "Archer's" line of sight.

Despite the pain in her chest, Tiffania felt there was no one to blame but herself, since it was she who had asked the knight who called her "Master" to go and investigate what had caused the sound of distant screams that fateful night a week ago, which had left the group vulnerable to those awful men...and worse, all the others found had been killed, bodies rent limb from limb by ravening beasts.

"Strange," the enigmatic Archer muttered from the half-elf's side, startling Tiffania, as the warrior had closed the distance between them in utter silence, almost as if she were more spirit than human. Some hero of legend perhaps-though the woman referred to herself as merely a _Counter Guardian, _whatever that was-who remained vigilant while everyone else relaxed, like the edge of a drawn sword.

"What is it, Miss Archer?" Tiffania asked in trepidation, her delicate ears twitching under her hood as she extended her senses.

"One of these days, I'm going to have to teach you reinforcement magecraft," the Counter Guardian replied, shaking her head. "Memory modification is useful against humans, but against these beasts..." She sighed, shaking her head even as her piercing eyes scanned the area for any anomalies. "Make no mistake, even if they are not right in front of us, our lives are still in danger. You can feel it, right? How the balance of the world is in turmoil; how nature and life have been thrown into chaos; how few remain upon this road."

She kept her voice low enough that none of the humans of their group could hear her, allowing only her master to hear.

The blond elf flinched as the snow-haired woman's words hit the mark. Though she was only a half-elf, and not as fully in tune with the spirits of nature as her full-blooded brethren, she could sense how disturbed the world was.

Wreckage littered the ground they walked, lining the side-trails they took. Wood, stone and all other materials crafted by human hands had crumbled, shattered to pieces, as if their very existence had been killed. Villages were empty, devoid of life, even of the physical traces of murder, save for the scent of blood and fire in the air, so thick that one could taste it.

It reminded her of the disaster that had befallen her town in her youth, one which few acknowledged out of fear of royal retribution...of a tragedy that only a few children had managed to escape.

"Um...Miss Archer...if there are any more survivors... " the half-elf began, though she trailed off, as she didn't feel she had the right to speak.

Nevertheless, the mysterious Archer knew her thoughts.

"...you wish to save them?"

"...yes," Tiffania admitted, closing her eyes as she looked to the ground. "Even if I have no right to ask it. Even if I wasn't able to sa-"

_Flick!_

Tiffania's head rocked back as the woman knight flicked her on the forehead, causing her to flinch and turn red with embarrassment. But the Archer didn't let her look away, as her surprisingly soft hands cupped the half-elf's cheek.

"Do not blame yourself," her protector said, her cool words almost a command as eyes the color of blood bore into blue. "You are not at fault for what happened. If anything, _I _was the one who did not exercise enough vigilance."

Tiffania's eyes widened in shock at this.

"How...how can you say that?" the half-elf asked, flustered. "If it weren't for you, we would all be..."

"It is impossible to save everyone," the Counter Guardian intoned, thinking back to bitter words she'd heard long ago. "One can only save the ones they choose. And even now, I'm not sure I'd call our states saved, as we are not nearly out of danger."

"...but you have the power to protect us...right? Where I do..."

"...yes, anything for my Master, of course. But don't belittle yourself - you saved Maria, didn't you?" the lady knight noted, her lips curling into a gentle smile for just a moment before her expression hardened once more. The cold mask of a being sworn to fight monsters with all of her being - of one who wished to be a hero, but knew in her heart that she was merely an imitation. "So if we find any more survivors, let us do our best."

Tiffania felt an odd twinge in her chest at Miss Archer's words, though she didn't know why the other's presence reassured her so. It was like how she felt around Mathilda, the woman she thought of as a sister, who had saved her life (and those of the children) in the distant past - how she felt when she watched the other's back.

"Yes, let's do our best..."

"Good. You're stronger than you think, Master!" Miss Archer said softly, surprising the half-elf by pulling her into a hug. Her hands traced Tiffania's spine, sending tingles through her body. "Chin up, chest forward, standing tall. Let's go..." And then almost as an afterthought, she handed over a waterskin. "Here's my water ration by the way - I don't actually need liquids or food so long as the connection between us exists."

"Uh...I..."

"Share it with Maria, but do drink some yourself - you can't save anyone if you can't stand you know," the Counter Guardian murmured, before stepping back from the half-elf and looking at the other members of their refugee party, who had scattered as far as they dared. "What are you all doing, so far away from us? Come on, we can't wait all day!"

The boys turned to each other, and then looked to their mothers in confusion. Their mothers looked equally confused, but all of them paused as Tiffania turned back to see their reactions. They were tired, haggard after days of travel, and didn't know whether they could go any further, but...

_'Should we wait for them to rest more, or...?'_

But while Tiffania might have been inclined to give the others some time to come to a decision on whether or not they could continue, the mysterious Archer knew that waiting any longer was not an option. So she called out again, this time louder, loud enough to cause the women to nearly jump where they stood.

"Come. We're responsible for you, you know? So stick close and let's get going! At this rate, it will be sunset soon, and we don't want to be caught just off the road," the warrior ordered.

One of the women, a strawberry-blond that Tiffania remembered to be Anya, nodded to the other woman shakily and walked ahead, beckoning for the rest of the family to join her. Maria, for her part, just went up to Tiffania and took her hand.

And so together, they set off once more, towards a distant hope of salvation.

* * *

><p><em>'It's not safe. Nowhere is safe. The demons...are nipping at our<em>_ heels_,' Tiffania thought anxiously, as the fiery orb of the sun rose in the sky, its scant illumination driving away the malingering shadows that hung over the land.

They'd survived another night, but the protracted stress of their flight from danger was beginning to take its toll, with the half-elf only managing to get a scant few hours of sleep each night. To be sure, she'd used her magic to soothe the minds of those she traveled with, easing them into dreamless sleep so they could rest, but she could not help herself in that regard, and so kept a silent vigil over the sleeping children gathered around her.

All of them ultimately depended on her and Miss Archer to keep them safe, and while the half-elf trusted her savior implicitly, she didn't dare trust herself.

_'...what if I fail? What if I make a wrong decision and someone dies?'_

The twin burdens of guilt and responsibility were terrible things, especially when taken together, and when every morning, the others (reluctantly) thanked her skittishly, as if afraid she might do something to them (say, leaving them to die) if they didn't.

'_I'm...I'm tired.' _And why wouldn't she be, when she was the focus of so much hostility and fear, accepted as the leader of the group only because the others didn't really have a choice. _'I try my best to help, but this is all I can manage? ' _For a few moments, she even wondered if it would be better to just surrender and be consumed, to shuffle off the mortal coil and hand responsibility to someone more competent - like Miss Archer. _'But that wouldn't be fair to her. And it would make her efforts to save me meaningless...'_

She knew that. She _knew_ that full well, but...she was so very tired.

She heard things at night: whispered things, whimpered things, secret things, long after everyone thought she was asleep.

Secret fears, complaints, musings about how hopeless everything was, set against a backdrop of unnatural silence. The wind did not blow, birds did not sing, insects did not buzz, the symphony of nature did not play, as the twin moons glared down like hungry eyes, as if the heavens themselves were simply the trappings of a great demon biding its time until it simply consumed the souls of all below.

All too aware of how strange the world had become, she found herself unable to sleep, even as she closed her eyes and tried to force the transition to slumber. Her body would tremble, images of terrible violence and death would flash against her eyes, scenes from the past shown to a captive audience as her body grew hot and fevered, forehead, palms, all becoming slick with sweat, waiting for an attack that didn't come.

The awareness of danger wore upon them daily as they made slow progress across broken lands, until at last, after what seemed like a small eternity in this solemn, hopeless flight, they reached a place that was different from what they'd encountered before, passing through a narrow gorge that served as the gateway to a hidden valley, with forbidding cliffs rising from the ground almost as if to create a natural fort.

Yet even within the mouth of the valley, things were not entirely right with the world, as the sparse vegetation on the badlands within looked like they had not seen rain in many years. What trees there had been had been reduced to stumps, and it looked like nothing so much as...

"...a killing field," the lady Archer said quietly, just barely loud enough for even Tiffania's superhuman hearing to pick up. "Trees cleared to prevent anything approaching whatever is ahead from taking cover. The ground poisoned and salted to deny intruders any refuge, though it will do little enough against the shadow beasts."

As confirmation, she knelt down, using one of her fingers to swab the ground, bringing up a bit of the grey substance that covered the world like ash. Slowly, she ground it between her fingers, feeling the texture, running prana through it to analyze its composition.

As a homunculus, a being closer in nature to a spirit than a human, she was immune to most poisons and had some degree of magic resistance, so she was the best choice to examine it. Not that she was prepared to do something like _taste_ the mysterious substance, to the disappointment of most of the of the refugee column when she caught them looking.

"What, did you expect me to taste something on the ground?" the warrior questioned archly, causing the others to look away. "I'll warn you though. The ground here isn't safe to touch with your hands - and I think the water may be tainted as well."

Everything seemed to be coated with a film of whitish-grey. A substance almost like mud, caked over almost everything in sight, its lack of color mirroring the disposition of the cloudy skies above.

_'This isn't quite mud...or any normal toxin...'_ she thought to herself, as something tugged at the back of her mind, something dark and half-familiar. _'It feels almost...like a curse. But I don't remember exactly what...'_

Maria looped in from beneath Tiffania's arms and knelt curiously at Archer's side, interrupting the elf's protests, "Hey, Big Sis, why's this valley all covered in this grey stuff? And just what is it anyway?"

Following the archer's example, the little girl bent down, curiosity getting the best of her as she reached out to poke at one of the grey mounds-but was forced upright again, as the half-elf grabbed her wrist with a vice-like grip.

"Maria! Don't touch it! Miss Archer just warned us that it wasn't safe..." Tiffania scolded with a firmness that did not belong to her voice. She was worried, deathly so, and feared that the place they'd reached wasn't any safer than the dangerous roads.

Maria giggled nervously.

"Eh, hee hee, uh, Big Sis, I g-guess I'm a little dizzy, that's all." She couldn't stop herself when she coughed roughly at the end of her sentence.

Tiffania frowned.

"When was the last time you had something to drink?"

"Um, just a while ago?" the girl said, shuffled her feet nervously.

"Let me see that," Tiffania sighed, reaching around and grabbing Maria's waterskin before the tiny girl could leap out of the elf's reach. The little girl yelped indignantly but did not move to stop Tiffania from taking and opening her flask, finding that it was bone dry. "Maria, you should have told me you had none left..."

"B-but, Big Sis..." Maria protested. Tiffania saw in the girl's eyes a conflict between wanting to drink but also wanting to save water for her guardian, who she _knew_ sacrificed of herself.

The half-elf might have found this touching, if she believed she was worthy of care, but given that she believed herself undeserving of attention, her presence alone having brought disaster to the orphans more than once, all she could think was that Maria was misguided.

"Drink," Tiffania said softly, putting on a gentle smile as she pulled out her own waterskin, which still had a mouthful or two left.

Maria simply nodded; she could never argue against her big sister when she spoke so softly and affectionately. She tried to take just a small gulp, to save a bit for her guardian, but the moment the life-preserving liquid touched her lips, her body was not her own, and she could not control herself as she gulped down all that was left.

...all the while, Tiffania stared down at her charge, thinking that if nothing else, she would protect Maria, that the little girl who had done nothing wrong might survive, even when she herself might not.

"Hey, what's with the waitin'?" Gino, the younger brother asked curiously. His blond mop fluttered wildly on his head, against the howling winds of the valley. "I see the fort that grandpa told us about at the other end of the valley there!"

Indeed, in the distance, a speck of white could be seen - a structure that to more discerning eyes revealed itself to be a small fort, built around a towering white tree.

"Huh? Oh, is that it?" Maria gasped as she finally stopped her mad gulping, distracted from her guilt over drinking the last of Tiffania's water. "Um...but if that's so, why aren't there any trees here beside the one in the fort?"

"I..." Tiffania began, but she didn't know how to respond in a way that wouldn't frighten the girl.

A killing field, Archer had called it. Where men leveled the ground so their field of fire would be unimpeded...

"The people in the fort probably cut the others down so they could see if there were friends and refugees coming, so they could better help them," the Counter Guardian noted, not all together untruthfully. "From the look of it, there are others here, and the land might be protecting them."

"Wha-what do you mean?" asked Anya, the redheaded mother of Gino, as hope flooded into her shaky voice, tension seeming to bleed out of her frame. "D-does that mean Caerdydd is safe? C-can we go there?"

Her elder sister, Dorothea, placed a firm hand on her shoulder and muttered, "It's still too close to be _Cardiff_, sister."

"A-ah, of course!" Anya nodded before noticing how the rest of the group was all staring at her. She blushed and hid behind her older sister quickly.

"Ahem," Dorothea coughed, grabbing everyone's attention. She focused her gaze upon Tiffania and the odd Archer as she spoke. "It is most likely to be Pinas Powys, the hillfort. There are tales about—"

"Dorothea!" Anya hissed from behind her softly, almost too softly for anyone human to hear. Except that both Archer and Tiffania heard her, as neither were exactly what one might call human.

Dorothea's grimacing visage spun around to her sister as she hissed back, "There's no point in hiding something like that, Anya! Not when the world is ending like this-this... this..."

Her sister nodded; her glaze falling to the ground. "...You might be right..."

"If you ladies would be so kind as to tell me what you are talking about," Archer interrupted as she smiled widely at the two women, "that would be _wonderful_."

Dorothea gulped, recognizing something dangerous in that smile.

"Ah... yes, there are ah... _tales_... about this place," the woman said slowly. "They say there's a spirit of nature that shields this fort, taking the form of a silver tree watered by tears."

"Spirit? Protecting?" Maria asked, wide-eyed, her interest piqued. "That isn't what the Church says..."

Gino growled at her from her side, "So what about it?"

"Nothing!" Maria replied in an odd tone as she skipped ahead of the group quickly, passing Archer.

"Oi!" Gino shouted indignantly before his older brother—cousin, really—placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head down at his younger sibling. "Oh... right..."

"L-let's be off then!" Tiffania tried to gather the group, and failing as her whisper of a voice was drowned by even just the children's feet shuffling. "P-perhaps we c-could make t-time and reach the f-fort by dusk?" She asked.

Archer sighed, brushing a silvery strand away from her face. She laughed, albeit a bit mirthlessly, as she wrapped an arm around Tiffania's waist, shouting to their group, "Come on people, you heard your beautiful leader, let's go!"

* * *

><p>As they approached, they could see spikes littering the ground, scattered all around everywhere.<p>

From a distance, they had appeared to be merely mounds of dirt, but up close it was plain how dangerous they were, with razor-edges growing out of a spikes of stone, weaving a great barriers of stony barbs that even the refugee column could barely squeeze past one at a time - and with great caution, as brushing against any of the thorns would cause unprotected skin to bleed.

_'Channeling us into certain paths and slowing our movements...this is well made indeed...'_

Slow enough in fact, that by the time they reached the fort, the sky burned a fiery red, as the sun was nearly swallowed up by the horizon, and the roars of shadow beasts filtered into Archer's ears from a vast distance. Yet, for now, she was in no hurry, as she seemed to recognize what the hills surrounding the fort represented - a barrier - and not simply a physical one of stone and dirt, but a spiritual boundary field as well.

Archer had tasted the difference in the air the moment her group crossed the barrier, with its innate magic having found them to not be hostile. It was a nostalgic taste on the back of her tongue, one heavy with cream-like sweetness. It reminded her of her childhood...her now long-vanished past.

For a moment, she paused, but dismissed such thoughts as unnecessary, gritting her teeth at the unwanted surge of memories. She was above being influenced in such a way, and so glared towards the source of the barrier, this disgustingly homely and comforting aura of power.

It was there, somewhere within the center of the fort...quite likely the tree that had been spoken of, given the feelings of shelter it seemed to suggest, quite a contrast to her surroundings, where the spikes, spines, and other rocky protrusions stabbed upwards from the ground almost like a graveyard of swords.

_'No. I will not think about that. I will not.'_

"Um...Miss Archer...Do you think they'll have food in there?" a soft, curious voice asked, tugging on Archer's mind as its owner tugged on the hem of her coat. Archer's eyes turned to see little Maria, who was gnawing lightly on her finger despite how dirty it was.

Sighing, she allowed her senses to focus on her group and heard everyone's stomachs growling, even Tiffania's. Not surprising, really - they were almost out of provisions entirely.

"...yes, I'm sure they will, Maria," the lady Archer said, reaching down and ruffling the little girl's hair with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "And more, I'm sure they will be willing to share."

_'...I'll make sure of it...'_

So she thought as they reached the gates of the fortress, finding it odd. Rather than a keep wrought by human hands, this was crafted in layers that seemed almost...organic. Oh, to be sure, the outermost layer was a wall of thick, white stone, fortified with something like reinforcement magic, but the inner layers featured more of the strange tree-like growths they'd encountered earlier, this time wrought of metal and jagged rock.

The only part that seemed entirely human-crafted (and the most glaring weak-point), was the gate, made of solid oak reinforced by bands of hardened steel.

Archer stopped before the door and turned around, seeing everyone staring at her expectantly. She grinned coolly, turning her attention fully upon Tiffania, who shuddered as she noticed Archer's gaze.

"Well, my Master, would you like to knock and let our hosts know that we are here?" Archer asked calmly. "Or should I take a more...direct approach?"

No one had come out to meet them, and no sentries manned the walls - a fairly disturbing sign, given that one would expect more vigilance when taken with the preparations made to the rest of the valley. Unless of course, the bounded field simply repelled any of hostile intent?

_'Still...sloppy...'_

If she had to, Archer thought she could break down the gate - or at the least enter the fortress to do some reconnaissance and see if she could force entry, but such a thing would plainly prejudice the dwellers within against them even more than they were bound to be against refugees in general. Perhaps it would be more advantageous to try diplomacy...even if it never really worked?

"I'll try first..." Tiffania said quietly. Her ears drooped as she walked out of the group and approached the gates, staring upwards as if they towered over her.

Archer quickly amended that thought, perhaps such simple, stone walls truly did tower over her Master? But how then, why had she felt an odd power radiating from Tiffania when she entered the bounded field, as if it recognized her as kindred?

"H-hello? Is anyone there?" the half-elf called, her voice echoing through the valley, just barely over the sound of howling wind and the distant growls of rage and hunger. "Can anyone hear me?"

But there was no answer.

"Anyone? We've come a long way, and if you could let us in..."

Still, no answer, and Archer was beginning to get impatient, given how haggard the travelling party was. The walls of a fort such as this should be manned, unless they were expecting the bounded field to hide them - anything less was carelessness on the part of the occupant.

She was just about ready to vault the wall and make entry when a _clunk_ was heard, and heavy feet dragged themselves to the edge of the walls. A young man barely out of his teenage years stared down at them. He had cropped, dark-bluish hair and wore a worn suit of what looked like iron scale armor. He grimaced down at Archer and her group, grumbling in the tone of someone who had just woken up, "What is it? What do ya'll want?"

"We respectfully request entry," Archer replied, looking up at the youth and assessing his threat level. "We have traveled far and—"

"And what?" the youth mocked in a high pitched voice before he switched back to his grumpy tone. "And what? You've been chased by demons? You're hungry? Like I haven't heard that before! Go away, we're full here..."

He snorted before turning away.

"W-wait!" Tiffania cried, banging her hands, which had curiously curled up into fists, against the iron gates, "Stop! We have traveled weeks on this road, we have no food or water, and... and... if you would not take us in, at least take in the children! Please!" She shouted, tears filling the corners of her eyes to the brim.

The boy's smug voice filtered over the battlements.

"Not. My. Problem!" he called over his shoulder, only to turn around at the sound of a clatter behind him, as the crimson-cloaked Archer bounded the height the wall in one great leap, landing in a crouch. "...wait. Wha...?"

"Then what _is_ your problem?" the woman asked, eyes the color of blood forcing him to take a step back with the intensity of their gaze. "Tell me, what do you know of suffering, you who have been within these walls? Do you know what it's like to be chased by hounds of darkness each night? To have to fend for yourself on the road against imminent death?"

"...tch, as if you have," the blue-haired man sneered in reply, contemptuous, even as his eyes roamed over the woman's ample curves. "Neat trick, by the way, but that won't get you inside."

Below, Tiffania raised her voice louder and louder, "Please help! Please, I'll do anything, just help these children..."

"Oh? Did you say _anything?_" the youth called in reply, a sly grin marring his face, though he did that the silver-haired woman seemed to stiffen - and a gust of wind swept the cloak from Tiffania's head, revealing her ears to the world. His eyes widened in horror at the sight. "Elf...and an elf friend! That's how you got through the barrier! It was said to be made long ago by—"

Something nagged in Tiffania's memory, a story of her youth about how the gates of Elven keeps and redoubts were always open to those called friends.

"_Mellon_?" Tiffania's voice croaked, as the gates swung open by the spirit's whim, leaving the youth slack-jawed.

"You..." the youth began, but then he said no more, as someone had hit the boy's skull from behind, sending him sprawling to the battlement. A gruff, aged man walked up from behind him, regarding both the odd Archer and the group that had apparently opened the gate with a mere word - a group that included an elf.

"Ignore the boy, he doesn't know what he's doing," the man intoned, in a voice rich with authority. The man was covered in heavy looking armor, yet he had a thick tabard over it, making him look even larger and fatter. He wielded a large, red staff, which he stomped onto the ground. "So...elf friend, huh? You're escaping the beasts too, are you? Well, as they say, enemy of my enemy and all. Maybe you'll be of use against the demons." He ground out. "Well? Hurry up and get in! Not like I can stop you..."

Tiffania only blinked at what had just occurred, as she and the rest of her party passed through the gate into true shelter for the first time in days, under the watchful eyes of the keep's commander, and the odd woman who called herself a Counter Guardian.

* * *

><p>You might be wondering why this took so long to update. This is because the creative writing forum that I had once frequented as if it was my homepage had changed from a warm, friendly atmosphere to something cold. I guess that's expected from the internet, but it had shocked me how people are. Of course, there are the exceptions, but if you want to blame someone or something for the lateness of this chapter then blame that mod and the few assholes of that forum.<p> 


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